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

Best EvoMaster code snippet using com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.Insanity.read

Source:DescriptionAtmosphere.java Github

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1package com.example.clement.readingmood.Objets;2import android.util.Log;3import java.io.BufferedReader;4import java.io.File;5import java.io.FileNotFoundException;6import java.io.FileReader;7import java.io.IOException;8import java.util.ArrayList;9import java.util.Scanner;10public class DescriptionAtmosphere {11 private static ArrayList<String> administration = new ArrayList<String>() ;12 private static ArrayList<String> anger= new ArrayList<String>();13 private static ArrayList<String> attic= new ArrayList<String>();14 private static ArrayList<String> bathroom= new ArrayList<String>();15 private static ArrayList<String> bedroom= new ArrayList<String>();16 private static ArrayList<String> calm= new ArrayList<String>();17 private static ArrayList<String> car= new ArrayList<String>();18 private static ArrayList<String> castle= new ArrayList<String>();19 private static ArrayList<String> cave= new ArrayList<String>();20 private static ArrayList<String> cemetery= new ArrayList<String>();21 private static ArrayList<String> church= new ArrayList<String>();22 private static ArrayList<String> circus= new ArrayList<String>();23 private static ArrayList<String> company= new ArrayList<String>();24 private static ArrayList<String> countrytown= new ArrayList<String>();25 private static ArrayList<String> desert= new ArrayList<String>();26 private static ArrayList<String> fear= new ArrayList<String>();27 private static ArrayList<String> field= new ArrayList<String>();28 private static ArrayList<String> fight= new ArrayList<String>();29 private static ArrayList<String> fog= new ArrayList<String>();30 private static ArrayList<String> forest= new ArrayList<String>();31 private static ArrayList<String> garden= new ArrayList<String>();32 private static ArrayList<String> gunshot= new ArrayList<String>();33 private static ArrayList<String> gym = new ArrayList<String>();34 private static ArrayList<String> happy= new ArrayList<String>();35 private static ArrayList<String> hospital = new ArrayList<String>();36 private static ArrayList<String> industry= new ArrayList<String>();37 private static ArrayList<String> jail= new ArrayList<String>();38 private static ArrayList<String> kitchen= new ArrayList<String>();39 private static ArrayList<String> library = new ArrayList<String>();40 private static ArrayList<String> livingroom= new ArrayList<String>();41 private static ArrayList<String> love= new ArrayList<String>();42 private static ArrayList<String> meadow = new ArrayList<String>();43 private static ArrayList<String> mine= new ArrayList<String>();44 private static ArrayList<String> mountain= new ArrayList<String>();45 private static ArrayList<String> ocean= new ArrayList<String>();46 private static ArrayList<String> plane= new ArrayList<String>();47 private static ArrayList<String> rain= new ArrayList<String>();48 private static ArrayList<String> sad= new ArrayList<String>();49 private static ArrayList<String> school= new ArrayList<String>();50 private static ArrayList<String> snow= new ArrayList<String>();51 private static ArrayList<String> street= new ArrayList<String>();52 private static ArrayList<String> sun= new ArrayList<String>();53 private static ArrayList<String> thunder= new ArrayList<String>();54 private static ArrayList<String> trainstation= new ArrayList<String>();55 private static ArrayList<String> wind= new ArrayList<String>();56 private static final String[] listTitle ={ "Administration", "Anger", "Attic", "Bathroom",57 "Bedroom", "Calm", "Car", "Castle", "Cave", "Cemetery",58 "Church", "Circus","Company", "Country Town","Desert", "Fear",59 "Field", "Fight","Fog", "Forest", "Garden", "Gunshot","Gym","Happy","Hospital", "Industry", "Jail",60 "Kitchens", "Library", "LivingRoom", "Love","Meadow", "Mine", "Mountain","Ocean",61 "Plane","Rain", "Sad", "School", "Snow","Street","Sun", "Thunder", "TrainStation", "Wind"};62 public static ArrayList<ArrayList<String>> createDescription()63 {64 ArrayList<ArrayList<String>> newArray = new ArrayList<ArrayList<String>>();65 initialiseAll();66 newArray.add(administration );67 newArray.add(anger);68 newArray.add(attic);69 newArray.add(bathroom);70 newArray.add(bedroom);71 newArray.add(calm);72 newArray.add(car);73 newArray.add(castle);74 newArray.add(cave);75 newArray.add(cemetery);76 newArray.add(church);77 newArray.add(circus);78 newArray.add(company);79 newArray.add(countrytown);80 newArray.add(desert);81 newArray.add(fear);82 newArray.add(field);83 newArray.add(fight);84 newArray.add(fog);85 newArray.add(forest);86 newArray.add(garden);87 newArray.add(gunshot);88 newArray.add(gym);89 newArray.add(happy);90 newArray.add(hospital);91 newArray.add(industry);92 newArray.add(jail);93 newArray.add(kitchen);94 newArray.add(library);95 newArray.add(livingroom);96 newArray.add(love);97 newArray.add(meadow);98 newArray.add(mine);99 newArray.add(mountain);100 newArray.add(ocean);101 newArray.add(plane);102 newArray.add(rain);103 newArray.add(sad);104 newArray.add(school);105 newArray.add(snow);106 newArray.add(street);107 newArray.add(sun);108 newArray.add(thunder);109 newArray.add(trainstation);110 newArray.add(wind);111 return newArray;112 }113 private static void initialiseAll() {114 administration = new ArrayList<String>() ;115 anger= new ArrayList<String>();116 attic= new ArrayList<String>();117 bathroom= new ArrayList<String>();118 calm= new ArrayList<String>();119 bedroom= new ArrayList<String>();120 car= new ArrayList<String>();121 castle= new ArrayList<String>();122 cave= new ArrayList<String>();123 cemetery= new ArrayList<String>();124 church= new ArrayList<String>();125 circus= new ArrayList<String>();126 countrytown= new ArrayList<String>();127 desert= new ArrayList<String>();128 fear= new ArrayList<String>();129 field= new ArrayList<String>();130 company= new ArrayList<String>();131 fight= new ArrayList<String>();132 fog= new ArrayList<String>();133 forest= new ArrayList<String>();134 garden= new ArrayList<String>();135 gunshot= new ArrayList<String>();136 gym = new ArrayList<String>();137 happy= new ArrayList<String>();138 hospital = new ArrayList<String>();139 industry= new ArrayList<String>();140 jail= new ArrayList<String>();141 kitchen= new ArrayList<String>();142 library = new ArrayList<String>();143 livingroom= new ArrayList<String>();144 love= new ArrayList<String>();145 meadow = new ArrayList<String>();146 mine= new ArrayList<String>();147 mountain= new ArrayList<String>();148 ocean= new ArrayList<String>();149 plane= new ArrayList<String>();150 rain= new ArrayList<String>();151 sad= new ArrayList<String>();152 school= new ArrayList<String>();153 snow= new ArrayList<String>();154 street= new ArrayList<String>();155 sun= new ArrayList<String>();156 thunder= new ArrayList<String>();157 trainstation= new ArrayList<String>();158 wind= new ArrayList<String>();159 administration.add("The ceiling must be twenty feet high. Designs of fruit and flowers are carved into the moulding and small, fat children with wings look down at us from every angle. Vases of blossoms give off a cloying scent that makes my eyes itch.");160 administration.add("The city loves me in ways no person ever has. It listens to my fierce footsteps, the clicking of my polished heels against it's dirty pavements early on a Monday morning. It sees me smile ear to ear when I see the windows on it's skyscrapers reflect the orange glow of the afternoon sun. It empathises with my frustrated groan long past midnight when I can't flag down a taxi to take me home. It hears my satisfied sigh in winter as the first sip of a morning coffee warms my throat and thaws my freezing hands. It celebrates with me when I'm on top of the world and cries for me when life gets hard. The city sees and hears and feels every moment of every day of my life. The city understands.");161 administration.add("Before the virus the city was always moving; cars, people, busses, trains. All those people making the organic part of the city, the part that determined the character and the structures. Those people dreamed of stadiums and theatres, they built ice-rinks and laid out parks with soccer pitches. They built churches, mosques and temples. There were hospitals, libraries, police stations, courts and jails. They made the roads wide and the tower blocks tall. Sometimes in the dark I can still hear the cars and imagine a street so busy I must weave between the people. Every other other Canadian was carrying a cup, or so it seemed, and the coffee shops sprang up faster than springtime weeds. Back then I wished there weren't so many people, trust me, that's not one you ever want to be granted. The city was always quieter at night though, perhaps that's another reason I prefer the night. But even then there were lights everywhere, from cars, restaurants, apartments and late-night shops.");162 administration.add("This was alway a city of the haves and have-nots. There were those in West-Van with their exotic cars and luxury life style and those on Hastings Street, drug addled and abused. Of course there was a huge middle class that was neither. Working all their waking hours to give their kids ski lessons, music lessons, two sports clubs and foreign vacations. After the virus we were equal for a short time. Equal in our grief, our losses, our mental disarray. There was no shortage of nice homes to move into so long as you removed the dead. No amount of money could save you, you either won the genetic lottery or you didn't. The city was ghostly for those frozen weeks, no-one moved for fear of contracting the virus. Then hunger took over and the looting began. Cowering behind locked doors saved no-one, eventually it found a way in under the door or down the chimney. Most of the people who fled to the country came back too, no idea how to farm, no tolerance for the back breaking work.");163 administration.add("In the winter I thought that the coldness of this city was seasonal, that with the spring warmth it would transform and I could feel at home. I was mistaken. Even in the summer there is no softening of the chill. Service is without a smile; fast, efficient, mechanical. There is no greenery at all, the planters installed by some optimistic architect remain bare, not even a weed. It is clean and utterly soul-less. There is no music unless it is the tinny prelude to a police announcement, there are no street vendors, there are no street artists or brightly covered store fronts. Everything is monochrome from the stores, to cars to clothing. When I got here I wore a red woollen jacket and orange mitts but apparently you can't get hired looking like that. Now my black heeled shoes strike the grey cement and my black overcoat descends to my knees. My hat is black and as a small act of defiance my scarf is the softest of blues, almost grey.");164 anger.add("For the most part, addictions are to stuff that's bad for you; that's how I was with anger. When things calmed down, when everything was nice, that's when I'd find fault in someone or something. I was the the emotional volcano, convinced it was the fault of others, or circumstance.I never wanted to be that way; it's the trait I most disrespect in others... maybe that explains a lot. Don't they say that most folks are mean not because they struggle to like you, but because they struggle to like themselves? Ted said, \"Respond, don't react, breathe, take yourself out of the situation, be a fly on the wall for a second, let love back in.\" It's not like that was magic. I still blew hot, but it became better over time, less often. I started to see the real things that caused it, not the things I believed I was angry about. It was the petty frustrations of life, the things that flicked my anxiety switches, that or the things that made me sad. I'd felt entitled to better treatment from others, consideration and respect. I still think I'm worthy of those things, but these days I let it go, trust that the right people will come into my world. It took a while, but the addiction is over. Now it's the reverse, and in any anger situation I'm the cool one, the help instead of being part of the problem.");165 anger.add("My anger would come like an impossible build up steam, burning me on the way out, burning the one on the receiving end. I can tell you honestly, every time I ever blew I reckoned the other person deserved it. There was the explosion and then the mental framework afterwards to avoid guilt, avoid owning the shame that was mine. That's how I stayed so foolish for so long, so immature, refusing to learn over and over - sacrificing who I was supposed to be to keep a pristine ego. But that pain, that realisation, when I let it in, was more school than any classroom ever was. If I kept on being angry, how could I love anyone right? How could I begin to love myself?");166 anger.add("Winston rested his head in his hands. What a night. Either someone screaming or car horns honking. He just needed an unbroken night and he'd be a new boy. The teacher was droning on about atoms, nucleus this, electron that, then a question directed right at him. He raised his red laced eyeballs from the graffiti on the desk to look at the bespectacled man in the tweedy suit. Tut tut, no studying, Winston; Study? Where? In their family's single motel room there was no place quiet and he wasn't allowed out after dark anyway. His brothers and sisters screamed, threw tantrums and the television droned on, looney tunes mostly. His fingers curled tightly around his pencil, he could to see the man's neck snapping in his mind and it felt good. He could feel his fist smashing into his nose, splattering red blood on the dirty walls. What an improvement that would be. But instead he just replied as if his jaw were wired shut. No, sir.");167 anger.add("I held it back as long as I could, then I let go. They encircled me, each of the five taller than me. At first, they just called me names, but then they pushed \"the button.\" The leader poked me in the chest. I grabbed that hand and bent it back to his chin, while punching him in the stomach at the same time. One grabbed my left arm and I whirled to land one solidly on his jaw, right below his eye. He went down. Two of the other three held my arms while another punk hit me in the stomach twice. I kicked him solidly in the midsection, which knocked the breathe out of him. He bent over but didn't fall. When I kicked the guy in the gut, I pushed the others back and and we all went down. I hit the pavement getting up. One was on all fours, and I kicked at his chin and landed a hard one on his head. The other was up and ran at me to tackle me. I stiff-armed him and pushed him to the ground. While they were regaining their balances, I slipped away. I dreaded seeing them tomorrow.");168 anger.add("Lara didn't even know she was angry until Tom did it again. The used tissue arced from his hand as if in slow motion, coming to rest on her new cream couch. The bark of her voice even surprised her. Get your filthy snot rags of the couch; He looked at her through wide red-rimmed eyes, his mouth slightly open and a glisten of snot above his cracked lips. She knew she should reign it in, apologize before she made it worse, but she just didn't have it in her to stop. Her words crashed out unchecked, unaltered. It's just lazy, OK? Lazy, disgusting and vile. Get your damn bogey rags off my couch; Her second voice was urging her to stop, but this was an explosion in progress, no reverse gear, no dampeners. Lara's every word was clipped, punching into the air. She jabbed the air with a pointed finger at each utterance, her eyes narrowed and set hard...Tom, you are a mess. What the hell are you doing here? Wrecking my place? Giving me your germs? Out! Go home! Tom stood, swaying ...");169 attic.add("The attic with its low beams was made all the smaller by the heaps of dusty \"gems.\" Every one of them had been stored in battered boxes and garbage sacks for later use or enjoyment. In truth it was a graveyard for these treasures, a place for them to quietly die amongst the cobwebs until their sentimental value had waned. Out of sight was out of mind and the pain of parting with the item postponed. Were they ever to be retrieved the mildew and the dankness would have ruined cloth and electronics alike. Nancy was aware of all of this, yet she still pulled on the rope to call the ladder down and scaled it with her son's kindergarten books in another black sac. At the top she placed it on the last patch of bare floor and retreated to the warmth of the house.");170 attic.add("The attic was like those in many dwellings in the neighbourhood in that it was tall and fully boarded. Sure it was difficult to stand right at the edges where the roof sloped down, but there was plenty of room even for the tallest of adults. But unlike the others rather than being full of junk it had been slept in every night for the winter months. The reverend had started with just one homeless parishioner, but word of shelter and a warm bed had spread and now they filtered in at dinner time and left after breakfast. His neighbours had taken it in good humour at first, but now that talk was of down-and-outs mingling with the children and drug-abusers wandering the street from breakfast until dinner. It wasn't long before a delegation arrived at this door demanding a \"stop to all this nonsense.\"");171 attic.add("Sitting among the bare beams with his Tolkien book balanced on his drawn up knees, Ravi thought about whether it was right or wrong to play hooky in the attic. He knew Mom would want him in class, but the thought of the other kids eating lunch in front of him when there was no food for him to take was just overwhelming. Here at least he could be hungry in peace. He stood up and wiped the grime from the small circular window and then repositioned himself where the light streamed in. It smelt of staleness and dust but that window was fixed, no chance of freshening things up. Sometimes he thought her heard a rat scuttle or a bird on the roof, but then he reabsorbed himself in Frodo's adventure and everything else melted away.");172 attic.add("I walked into my closet to get my clothes. I looked up at the attic hatch -I loved to dream of what was inside. There could be gold, diamonds, futuristic technology and more. But my mum wouldn't let me go up. I thought for a second \"Would my mum notice if I just took a small peek?\" So I pulled it down and climbed up the ladder. It was dusty and boring. I walked over to a cardboard box and looked inside. There were pictures of strangers who I suppose forgot about them when they moved out. They were black and white, but browned with age. The people in them were as old as most grandparents. Then I moved to the next boxes finding a few old coins in a small purse from the nineteen thirties. Then I heard my mum saying \"Honey, where are you?\"");173 attic.add("The old painting leans against the wall, dusty and unloved. Petra runs a finger along the gold framing, her pink nail polish almost purple in the half-light, and it comes away dirty. In the grime that must have taken years to form there is now a streak of gold. She holds it up. With the light that struggles to make it through the grime on the window the colours are subdued, but she can already tell it's a country scene. The hills roll green, interwoven with the golds of autumn. How it could have lain here in the dark for so long without her knowing? She moves slowly down the attic stairs, one hand on the rungs, one on the painting. It's time for it to have pride of place...");174 bathroom.add("The bathroom could be described as somewhat dilapidated. The formica peeled from the vanities and the enamel was chipped in the sink. Water leaked from the base of the faucet when it was in use. But it was scrupulously clean, the old tarnished mirror sparkled in the morning light and the bath, though also chipped, was as brilliant white as any in a showroom. The towels were fragrant, fluffy and carefully folded on a thrift-store chair in the corner.");175 bathroom.add("One golden faucet in the king's bathroom could have paid for the surgery that could have saved his sister's life, or paid for water sanitization for the whole village. He didn't think of himself as a particularly blood thirsty rebel, but as his eyes fell from one solid gold fixture to the next, his attitude solidified. He would be the executioner himself if he could.");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 fisherman’s 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. Lumus’ blade glanced off the metal armor. Orandes dropped his trident, and grabbed Lumus’ throat. Lumus plunged his sword to the bare stomach of his adversary. Orandes spouted blood, and fell in slow motion. Lumus’ scores his first victory in Rome. The emperor even applauded.");253 fight.add("A sudden gush of pain jolted throughout Thorberg’s 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 captain’s 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.");342 ocean.add("Half an hour later he was experiencing such thrills as only the deep, deep sea could bring. Some five hundred feet beneath the surface of the sea he sat doubled up in his place, staring at an ever changing panorama. A rocky wall, not twenty feet from him, stood up like a sky-scraper, straight and tall. Here and there it was broken by fissures and caves. Everywhere it was festooned with sea vegetation--seaweed, kelp, anemones. All these, with coral that rose like Gothic architecture, were entrancing.");343 ocean.add("So far down in the ocean the sunlight is a soft diffuse glow. Those once golden rays from above are only blue in this water; and the deeper I swim the less light can penetrate. The rocks are now silhouettes in the dim. The light from my headlight dies quicker than the heat from a winter campfire. From time to time I am surprised by a lone fish, invisible until it enters the feeble beam. It's cold too, colder than I imagined it would be. With the increasing pressure I begin to feel like the water is thicker, like soup. I glance upward to the surface and my heart rate rises, I've never been this deep before. My desire to explore evaporates is gone, leaving no trace it was ever there. Now I only desire fresh air. Before I can stop myself I'm kicking with quick and powerful strokes. The voice of caution whispers softly not to rise so fast, but it can't break through the scream for unfiltered rays and fresh air...");344 plane.add("Between clouds that promise rain, is a river of blue. From this sky-river comes a light that feels akin to pride, to confidence, that it will shine in any season, in any weather, the rays uniting as great beams. I imagine for a moment that they are strong enough to support the heavens above, these beams, so that we may walk with raised eyes, smiling at this beauty, thankful for the given day.");345 plane.add("Give me the blue of the sky and I have clarity, for in that expanse of sweet calm air is a sense of freedom. The sky is both high above and touching my skin, reaching all the way to the path that sparkles with the first autumn frost. Is there anything so cleansing as this? Perhaps the river that flows, or the forest that hosts so much nature... It is what my spirit calls for, a chance to be one with so much and feel the togetherness of solitary moments, the connectedness of all living things.");346 plane.add(" Somewhere above this sky, born of the colour of summer Iris, swirl galaxies of brilliant stars. On fine days such as this I feel their energy the same way the smile of one I love infuses my soul, raises me higher. So I pause, let my feet join the serenity of quietness, and breathe. That's when I feel it all the more, sense energy from the trees, the birdsong and the very soil upon which I stand. They say the universe is all connected, as are we all, and in this moment it's so tangible, real.\n" +347 "\n");348 plane.add("I wonder if anyone noticed how pretty the sky was today, how the blue was bright and soft all at once. I wonder if they saw the serenity of the clouds that sailed by, gently passing on toward anyplace the wind wishes them to reach. I wonder if they let their eyes rest upon their white tops and follow the infinite greys that blend so harmoniously with one another, almost bluish. I wonder if they, as I did, imagined them to be Beluga whales swimming through a clean ocean, a happy family, singing, playing. If they did, I hope they felt at least a little of what I feel, a calm sense of awe as warm as sunny rays. If so, I hope they felt a tingle in their fingers and heightened senses, the heady aroma of blooms and the subtle movement of leaves, the way light reflects from both foliage and feathers. For when I tune in to these subtle and many pleasures, these everyday wonders, nature gives to me a quiet joy... and in that moment I am as happy as any queen or king has ever been.");349 plane.add("The morning sky is mostly cloud, deep steel blue-greys that mirror the hues of the highway. Everything is a muted shade, like a matt photograph in a dimly lit room, everything except the tail lights that flow into the heart of the city. They shine like the first berries on winter holly: unabashedly brilliant, scarlet, hypnotic.");350 rain.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.");351 rain.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.");352 rain.add("The rain comes, oblivious to the life it gives. It washes the world, quenching soil and the life whom depend upon it. In either warmth or coldness, sunlight or moonlight, rain comes, humble to its role. In this almost-spring afternoon, it is the percussion to the birdsong and the bringer of brightness to every hue of bark and leaf.");353 rain.add("Rain floats in gentle waves, as if gravity is a soft music from the Earth, a sweet beckoning serenade. Each drop bequeathes itself unto the cooling air - wet lifeboats in a dry sea. Together they paint a new picture around a glowing streetlamp. Light streams into the rich blue, as if seeking the sun, as if it is a song to the moon - and in those sacred drops it blooms into a star like those above. Sarah smiles, because in that moment, the water and the light have become a golden flower, an echo of life bursting into the night.");354 rain.add("I pulled the black hood over my saturated form as I saunter in the soft rain, small pellets of water spitting on my hands as the remainder of the drops quench the scattered puddles decorating the asphalt. Through one of the pools of rainwater, the familiar flash of police sirens are brought to my attention. I manage to lift my head up just a bit.");355 sad.add("Her eyes shifted to the side again and became glazed with a glassy layer of tears. As she blinked, they dripped from her eyelids and slid down her cheeks. She bit her lip tightly in attempt to hide any sound that wanted to escape from her mouth; my heart sank. \n" +356 "Her lower lip quivered as words slowly made their way out of her mouth. \n" +357 "She began, yet what followed was engulfed in the tremors.");358 sad.add("The tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. She was too sad to cry out or wail, she just stood there as still as a statue while the magnitude of her loss swept over her. When asked years later to describe her sadness in the moment she heard of the tragic news of her son's death, her eyes would brim with tears once more, as if all those years had passed in a matter of seconds and she would say nothing. For once again she was lost in the torrid vortex of the moment. It was a moment that carried her forwards until only death could release her from it's clutches. She was forever tormented by a past that could not be undone.");359 sad.add("\"Sad\" sounds so childish, like something flimsy, something one should be able to cast off with a happy reflection or the smile of a friend. But \"sad\" is nothing of the sort. It sits inside like the germ seed of depression, just waiting for the right conditions to grow, to send out roots to choke the hope out of your heart. It is the trough in which we struggle to return to the peak, always afraid that this time the rungs will be too slippery, too far apart or simply not there at all.");360 sad.add("There were days Hayley awoke and her memories weighed heavy. The morning radio came to her through a haze and the smiles of others were no more real than the pixelated icons on her phone. It was temporary of course, but in that permanent way; however high she rose and how long she stayed away this was the base-line she always returned to.");361 sad.add("He came suddenly upon a man sitting in an attitude of profound distress beneath a projecting mass of rock. The hands of this man hung limply over his knees, his eyes were red and staring before him, and his face was wet with tears.");362 school.add("He came suddenly upon a man sitting in an attitude of profound distress beneath a projecting mass of rock. The hands of this man hung limply over his knees, his eyes were red and staring before him, and his face was wet with tears.");363 school.add("You can make policies ten miles long and alphebetize your filing cabinet. You can attend meetings and dress real nice. But my stomach is empty and my mind is full of pain. It can't take no more in, Miss. It can't take no more in. So unless you gonna fix that, unless you gonna care, shut up. Please, for the love of God, shut up. My mom is sick and the rent overdue. My uncle said I'm a looser like me dad. The world is fucked up real bad and the gang got their eyes on me. So like I said, lady up there talking words that bounce off my skull, my mind is already full. So you learn. You learn how to take this shit out. You learn how to take my desire to put your head through that wall and make something calm. You learn how to love your students like a good mother, whatever the hell that is. You learn how to come into my head space, meet me for who I am and not tell me to meet your neat printed government bull crap standards. Because if you don't I'm gonna take a fist full of this anger and pain, this fear that's sat in me since I don't even remember when, and I'm gonna shove it right in your face. Then you'll hate me like all the others. All the others. All of them with their judging eyes from their comfortable lives with those that love them. Why don't you ever learn to see what you are seeing? So, Miss, here is your grade: SEE ME.");364 school.add("Bustling corridors, cluttered classrooms, noisy chatter, bright displays, obscure tannoy announcements, friends arrive, smiles, grins, teacher enters, hush descends, register called, day begins, math, literature, geography, science, homework forgotten, homework lost, homework crumpled in bottom of bag, dog ate homework, baby puked on homework, just kidding, homework in right on time, home time, goodbyes, hurried trot to bus, slide into middle row, not cool enough for back row, daydream, watch world go by.");365 school.add("Head down, dodging bullies, taunts, jabs, jibes, avoid eye contact, move in hurried scurry, shoulders hunched, stomach lurches, geek, four eyes, smelly, desperate to be inconspicuous, perch at table, wait, another day, another ordeal, six hours will drag by, tick tock, tick tock.");366 school.add("Heidi sits on the edge of her plastic chair, this is science class, her chance to shine. The other kids seem to come alive in art class, amongst the pastels and fine charcoal pencils, but for her the sight of the laboratory was the heaven she craved. Art was amazing, art was beautiful, but not when drawn by her hand. By her hand it was like a three year old with a broken arm was given a crayon and told to have fun. Mr Tobias was beaming at the front of the class, and she fought not to reflect it back, grinning at teachers wasn't cool. But as he announced the new assignment her face fell into a natural look of disbelief, her lips as straight as the pencil on her desk. Twenty percent of the grade was based on the artwork that went with it. Nine out of ten kids in the class voted to approve the new rubric and Heidi felt like something had just died in her mouth. Twenty percent. She could kiss her A's goodbye.");367 snow.add("Snow rests upon the park bench as if it were a feather cushion, soft and warm. It covers the rich, deep wood in perfect white. The snow is a gift-wrap only spring will open, revealing the engrained beauty that lives safely below, protected these long winter months. As the sun rises each morning, bestowing brilliance, igniting colours to vibrant hues - man dreams below of planting seeds, of the bounty of the gardens to come.");368 snow.add("The park was covered in a thick blanket of white, statutes peeked out under their new white caps, footsteps and paw prints crisscrossed each other around the labyrinth of paths. Aside from the brown of the denuded trees, the only other color was the vivid saffron staining around the base of each lamppost, tree and shrub.");369 snow.add("The street looked like an unfinished painting. So much of the canvas was still perfectly white, as if waiting for the artists hand to return. The morning light struggled through the murky cloud, but even in its weakness it was enough to blind. The air was of course cold, but Maisy hadn't expected the same dampness that comes before rain. Moving from the overbearing heat of the kitchen to the verandah was like sipping on ice-water in the height of summer, until her lips went blue and she scurried back to the roasting winter vegetables and baking apple pie.");370 snow.add("Breath pale against the numbing air, she blinked thoughtfully as the frost patiently kissed her face, captivated by the soft, dusty illusions of light that sat heavy on her eyelashes. She adored the snow, moreso when it was falling.");371 snow.add("The snow hugged the house like a day old baby, new and clingy. It was like the street had been put to bed, hushed under nature's frigid eider-down. How odd it was to look on that view, so familiar and yet so different. There were the same houses with their peaked shingle roofs and the black street-lights that would ordinarily be off already. Whether it was the stoney cloud or the white caps over the sensors, I'm not sure, but they were still sending our their feeble yellow glow.");372 sun.add("I know the sun is a star, I'd just never felt it before. There is such a difference between knowing and feeling. I was in the pine forests, high up the mountainside when the sun was setting. My mind was on getting home; the forests are so enchanting in the light, yet not so much in the blackness. That's when it happened, right after crossing the stream that falls over the rocks, a mini-waterfall I guess. The sun was maybe a third of the way down the pines and dead ahead, shining through the light fog in a way that gave it a myriad of sepia tones. The shafts shone to the right and left from that one focal point that for the most part was hidden. My feet stopped and my eyes opened wider than they had been for the past hours. Like a child, my hands reached up as if they could bathe in the light. The golden beams were radiating all around just like rays from the heavenly bodies we adore after nightfall - yet it was our star, our sun.");373 sun.add("There was nothing I loved more than those hot summer evenings when we would sit on the street and let the sun beat down on our skin. We could feel the tropic, sticky air with each inhalation; the air so thick you could cut through it. I liked the way that, as small gusts of wind blew past me, my skin would softly shiver before returning to its still, warmed state. It made me sleepy, like a silent lullaby of the sun was discreetly blowing my mind out of consciousness. I miss those days together. Those days we spent; just you, me and the sun.");374 sun.add("It is New Year's day. The sun finally shines above the sky after dreadful clouds covering it for weeks. It seems to have had a gorgeous makeover while hiding behind in its private room. The yolk looking sun has turned from yellowish brown to golden. Everyone is coming out and enjoying the warm and beautiful day, feeling the gentle heat. We celebrate the new year and appreciate the sun - giving us this boost of energy to start anew.");375 sun.add("The sun hangs so impossibly in the smoky sky- a perfect circle without strings or supports. Sometimes I imagine it to be a cut-out, that it is in reality a wall of fire behind the heavens. I know it isn't, I paid enough attention in science class to know that it is a fiery sphere, a yellow dwarf star, in the centre of our solar system. But from this grassy hill just outside Telanara City, it looks two dimensional and no further away than the mountains.");376 sun.add("The same sun that sent new green leaves bursting from blackened buds now turns the wands of knee high grasses golden. These spindles of plants shooting through the sidewalk cracks are enough to tell the children that summer is drawing to a close, waning along with the hours of daylight. This long awaited for vacation, this echo of a bygone era when the young were needed to bring in the harvest, has only days left. Only now there is no more labour in yellow fields, the closest the kids come to it is sitting on the crumbling concrete walls pulling off the swollen seeds.");377 thunder.add("Sydney's cries were lost beneath the thunder that rolled overhead. The sky was so low that even outside on the hills she was claustrophobic. If she didn't find Cindy soon even her scent would be washed away by the oncoming squall. She would be wet, cold and frightened, even the night was encroaching quickly, adding to the gloom. She called out again, shrill but loud, anything to pierce the thick air. She ran on and called again, her words clipped by another oppressive boom. After several long seconds of silence she head a cry, it was a way off that much she could tell and coming from closer to the cliff.");378 thunder.add("The thunder was as good a free trip to the spa. It was a ticket from the slog of the fields to a comfy armchair by the hearth. With every cracking boom his crooked smile became a little wider. By the time he reached the cottage his characteristic grim slash was a boyish smile. After a wash and a change of clothes he stoked the flames and drank in the aroma of his lunch being fixed, guilt free relaxation, dulcet tones from the radio and his dog by his feet. The only thing that could make it better was the drumming of rain on the slate roof, better than a shot of valium but no rival for the amber drink in his hand.");379 thunder.add("The vicar dismounted his horse and looked to the charcoal sky. Then he heard it, like a negative reflection of his own church bells pealing in the distant hills, the thunder rolled across the malevolent sky. The untamed power reverberated and echoed across the green landscape. Without waiting for the coming storm to break he hurried his steed to the stables.");380 thunder.add("The thunder seamed to crack the air, as if the very heavens might split apart. It rolled like the ash could of a volcano, becoming a rolling booming rumble. It declared to all the raw power of nature and gave fair warning of the wrath that was to come.");381 thunder.add("Thunder came like the prelude to a great song, impetuous rumbling permeating the air every bit as much as the sudden rain. At first it was a crack, violent to the ears, but after came a rolling sound that dissipated into the surrounding hills.");382 trainstation.add("The subway station could be a year ago at the dead of night, but perhaps only in a blackout. It's noon and the platform is only occupied by my tatty boots and rucksack. Under the steady beam of my flashlight it's the same old place it ever was. Grey above, grey below and a tunnel of black. The air is just as stale and surprisingly the litter remains, only now it is as stationary as the old train that sits with its doors open. I consider taking a look in there but after a few steps forwards I detect a familiar smell, urine maybe, human definitely. That's not good. I don't play nice with others, not anymore. Without a conscious thought my hand already holds a sharp blade. No-one could tell I'm a girl, not unless they have a light, and most don't. Looking at me from in there they wouldn't even know I'm not a Protector. Then a dark head appears around the corner blinking into the beam, but only two feet from the ground. I almost yell at them to get off their knees, but it's a kid.");383 trainstation.add("The platform at this late hour looks like a murder scene before the crime. There is no-one here but me right now, and since I'm not the killing type I guess that makes me Jane Doe. I stare into the black tunnel, willing those red lights to blink back at me, growing closer, announcing that at least I am on my way. The quiet chills me, nothing good happens in deserted parts of this city. I hold my hand out to feel for the movement of air that comes as the train pushes it along, but there is nothing. Nothing but the dirty grey floor and the worn yellow band under my boots. I shouldn't even be this close to the edge, but it's not like I can get a knock from behind right now. Suddenly adrenaline floods through me and I turn abruptly to stare at the empty platform behind me, paranoia, that's not good either. So I face forwards and diligently study the subway map I already know. I am almost calm when I hear a sneeze.");384 trainstation.add("Ryan slid through the subway throng as efficiently as a deer in a thicket. It was lucky for them he was no pick pocket because he could have easily made more money that way than MI5 paid, and at less personal risk too. His pursuer was now stuck and resorting to standing on tip-toes to see over the heads of the packed-in commuters. Ryan had by now acquired a new hat without its owner noticing and stood on the edge of the platform, sucking in the stale tunnel air to re-oxidize his blood after the hide 'n' run-like-hell game he'd just been playing on the streets of New York. He wasn't supposed to be here of course, the Americans hardly ever gave permission for this kind of operation. The tell-tale displacement of air announced the arrival of the train. Now was the difficult part, to appear to board but actually hide under the lip of the platform until the mobsters had heaved their overly armed bodies either onto the train or away up the stairs.");385 trainstation.add("In the daytime the subway station was a seething mass of humanity. Everyone from every walk of life was shoulder to shoulder, in each other's faces, no personal space, no exceptions. But now at the end of my shift there is space between the people and somehow that makes it all the more awkward. When it's crowded you take in no information about anyone, they are just things in your way. Moving, smelling, awkward, rude things. Now the faces of the city are looking at me. Thinking about me. Judging this girl that normally goes unnoticed in the throng. And I am looking at them, forming opinions, deciding on the safest place to stand, nearer to who, further from who. Then I realize my judgments are based on how well the person dresses and I am ashamed. With a whine and a displacement of air the train arrives and I hurry on. Perched on the hard seat I flick through my phone and look at messages I already read, anything to avoid eye contact.");386 trainstation.add("The subway station could be a year ago at the dead of night, but perhaps only in a blackout. It's noon and the platform is only occupied by my tatty boots and rucksack. Under the steady beam of my flashlight it's the same old place it ever was. Grey above, grey below and a tunnel of black. The air is just as stale and surprisingly the litter remains, only now it is as stationary as the old train that sits with its doors open. I consider taking a look in there but after a few steps forwards I detect a familiar smell, urine maybe, human definitely. That's not good. I don't play nice with others, not anymore. Without a conscious thought my hand already holds a sharp blade. No-one could tell I'm a girl, not unless they have a light, and most don't. Looking at me from in there they wouldn't even know I'm not a Protector. Then a dark head appears around the corner blinking into the beam, but only two feet from the ground. I almost yell at them to get off their knees, but it's a kid.");387 wind.add("I grow strong against this wind; muscles working all the more. It is the freshness over my skin, that which makes a fine flag of my tousled hair. In the trees it is a gusting chorus, a song so confidently sung. There are times I feel it within, that push and swirl, that stirring to show what is solidly there. I'm okay with it; I am. For the calmness of sweet days ahead will be such plain sailing, as easy as summer daydreams.");388 wind.add("I have always loved the wind, for it comes to me so boldly, touches my skin. In coldness it rouses me to wakefulness, an alertness that lets me savour the moments in dryness and rain just the same. In soft breezes it is finer than silk, smoother than water. In the gales it sings through the trees, sending loose leaves on a dancing funfair ride, hypnotic, beautiful. In the summertime wind is cooling, allowing the warmth to gently enter muscle and bone while my skin feels so at ease with the world. Today is almost still and I find myself in joyful anticipation, absorbing the bright colours of the new foliage and buds, taking a moment to watch a dragonfly pass by, its back a brilliant electric blue.");389 wind.add("At dawn the soft susurration of the leaves that been Lila's lullaby through the night became a fierce rustling, loud enough to drown out the chorus of the birds. She sat up and brushed the leaf litter from her tight black curls. In her experience, all thirteen years of it, the wind did not arrive all of a sudden. It should build up gradually and it should weave through the tree trunks a least a little. She licked her finger and held it to the wind, hardly a breeze at all, almost still. Yet above was such a gale that new green leaves were tumbling down, some still attached to their twig. Every fibre of her being commanded her to run, but she was as rooted to the spot as the towering flora about her. The canopy was rapidly disintegrating, the myriad of green hues was now punctuated with shafts of light. The promised wind pushed througj the gaps, pummelling into the soil and whipping the debris into a vortex around her. Lila dived for a tree trunk as the wind escalated to hurricane force.");390 wind.add("The wind was Cynthia's nemesis, but it hadn't always been that way. As a child on the highlands she had built kites with her father and they would fly them on a Sunday after church. Back then a howl to the wind as it gusted around the stone cottage would be as welcome as a greeting from an old friend. She would burst through the timber door with her scarf bound tightly about her neck and just stand there for a moment to feel it's keen cool bite. But times had changed. She wed a fisherman, her childhood sweetheart, and now that howl made her blood run cold. She would clasp her arms about her and pace the floor. When the trees bowed and the birds ceased to fly she knew the sea was a tumult of giant waves, enough to sink a wee painted fishing boat. Sometimes she feared that it's moan had been carried right from the ocean itself, that it was the moan of those men being tossed like inconsequential dolls.");391 wind.add("It was a dark and stormy night and the rain fell in torrents except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies) rattling along the housetops, and fiercely, agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.");392 }393}...

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1val insanity = new com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.Insanity()2val insanityRead = insanity.read(protocol)3val insanity = new com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.Insanity()4val insanityWrite = insanity.write(protocol)5val insanity = new com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.Insanity()6val insanityRead = insanity.read(protocol)7val insanity = new com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.Insanity()8val insanityWrite = insanity.write(protocol)9val insanity = new com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.Insanity()10val insanityRead = insanity.read(protocol)11val insanity = new com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.Insanity()12val insanityWrite = insanity.write(protocol)13val insanity = new com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.Insanity()14val insanityRead = insanity.read(protocol)15val insanity = new com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.Insanity()16val insanityWrite = insanity.write(protocol)17val insanity = new com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.Insanity()18val insanityRead = insanity.read(protocol)

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1Insanity.read("insanity.bin");2Insanity.write("insanity.bin");3Insanity.read("insanity.bin", new org.apache.thrift.protocol.TBinaryProtocol.Factory());4Insanity.write("insanity.bin", new org.apache.thrift.protocol.TBinaryProtocol.Factory());5Insanity.read("insanity.bin", new org.apache.thrift.protocol.TCompactProtocol.Factory());6Insanity.write("insanity.bin", new org.apache.thrift.protocol.TCompactProtocol.Factory());7Insanity.read("insanity.bin", new org.apache.thrift.protocol.TJSONProtocol.Factory());8Insanity.write("insanity.bin", new org.apache.thrift.protocol.TJSONProtocol.Factory());9Insanity.read("insanity.bin", new org.apache.thrift.protocol.TSimpleJSONProtocol.Factory());10Insanity.write("insanity.bin", new org.apache.thrift.protocol.TSimpleJSONProtocol.Factory());11Insanity.read("insanity.bin", new org.apache.thrift.protocol.TDebugProtocol.Factory());

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1import com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.Insanity2import com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.Xtruct3import com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.Numberz4import com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.UserId5import com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.InsanityException6import com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.InsanityException._7import com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.InsanityException._Fields._8import com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.InsanityException._Fields9import com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.InsanityException._Fields._10import org.apache.thrift.protocol.TJSONProtocol11import org.apache.thrift.protocol.TBinaryProtocol12import org.apache.thrift.transport.TMemoryBuffer13import org.apache.thrift.TException14import org.apache.thrift.TApplicationException15import org.apache.thrift.TApplicationException._16import org.apache.thrift.protocol.TProtocol17import org.apache.thrift.protocol.TField18import org.apache.thrift.protocol.TType19import org.apache.thrift.protocol.TMessage20import org.apache.thrift.protocol.TMessageType21import org.apache.thrift.transport.TTransport22import org.apache.thrift.transport.TIOStreamTransport23import org.apache.thrift.transport.TTransportException24import org.apache.thrift.transport.TFramedTransport25import java.io.{ByteArrayInputStream, ByteArrayOutputStream, DataInputStream, DataOutputStream}26import java.io.{FileInputStream, FileOutputStream}27import java.io.{File, RandomAccessFile}28import java.io.{InputStream, OutputStream}29import java.nio.ByteBuffer30import java.nio.channels.FileChannel31import java.util.Date32import java.util.ArrayList33import java.util.HashMap34import java.util.Map35import org.apache.thrift.protocol.TJSONProtocol36import org.apache.thrift.transport.TIOStreamTransport37import org.apache.thrift.protocol.TBinaryProtocol38import org.apache.thrift.transport.TMemoryBuffer39import org.apache.thrift.TException40import org.apache.thrift.TApplicationException41import org.apache.thrift.TApplicationException._42import org.apache.thrift.protocol.TProtocol43import org.apache.thrift.protocol.TField44import org.apache.thrift.protocol.TType45import org.apache.thrift.protocol.TMessage46import org.apache.thrift.protocol.TMessageType47import org.apache.thrift.transport.TTransport48import org.apache

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