Question
The Reader by R.D. Works
It was a stormy Thursday evening, much like any other, when Jorge hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign outside his bedroom door. The sign was part of an agreement he had with his parents. Jorge's parents were big believers in personal privacy and would do their best not to bother him when that sign was on his door. In return, Jorge never put the sign on the door unless all of his chores were completed and he had finished his homework.
Closing the door behind him, Jorge turned back into his bedroom. The navy blue walls glowed in the lamplight as his feet padded across soft carpet to the tall steel bookshelves that lined the side of the room. Jorge ran his finger across the spines of the books neatly lined up like soldiers at attention.
What did he want to read this evening? Jorge loved this moment of anticipation, when he hadn't yet decided what he wanted to read and the evening held unforeseen adventures. It was almost better than the actual moment when he sank into his armchair and disappeared into the foreign, exciting world of a new book. Almost.
Some people read books to glean information. Others read books to improve themselves. Finally, there are those people who read books to escape. Jorge was part of this third group of readers. It wasn't that Jorge's life was especially horrible. He had friends whom he played basketball with every week, and he liked his classmates at school. But Jorge felt like his life was lived in shades of gray, while the books he read were in bright, vivid Technicolor. There just wasn't much happening in his small, Midwestern town. There were thirty-nine kids in his ninth-grade class; they were the same thirty-nine kids who had been in his kindergarten class. They would probably be the same thirty-nine people in his senior class. Jorge loved his parents, but they were both accountants and had been doing the same job every day of his entire life. They weren't exactly the stuff of intrigue and adventure.
Jorge's favorite books were about spies. Reading about counter-terrorism units and political assassins made his heart race, in a good way. But on this particular Thursday, Jorge wasn't in the mood for spy novels. He let his hand drift past them and skipped over the science fiction. None of his usual favorites appealed to him today.
Jorge was about to turn away from the bookshelf in surrender when he glimpsed a battered leather book on one of the bottom shelves. The book was so old that the gilded title on the spine had worn off. Jorge gently pulled the book out and opened it. He slowly flipped through the delicate, yellowed pages to the title page. "The Armchair Traveler," by Herman Castillo, Jorge read. He didn't recognize the title or the author. His grandfather had sent a box of old books to Jorge last month, and this book must have been in that pile. Perhaps his mother or father had placed it on the shelf.
"Well," Jorge thought to himself, "this is definitely better than going downstairs to help wash the dishes." He went to his armchair and settled into a comfortable position against the smooth, caramel leather. He pulled the lamp closer to light the pages. Then, comfortably situated and ready to begin, Jorge opened the book.
The first page after the title only had a single word on it: "Beware." The writing was bold and black, a warning. Goosebumps rose on Jorge's arms, but he turned the page, eager to read on. Two sentences, in italics, sat in the middle of the second page: "Those who travel from the safety of an armchair like to think they are safe. They are wrong."
Jorge smiled in satisfaction. He wasn't quite sure what those sentences meant, but they sounded promisingly threatening. "Now this is more like it," he thought. "This is the kind of beginning a mysterious thriller should have."
Jorge flipped the page again to the beginning of Chapter 1.
Outside rain poured and thunder boomed but inside the house it was warm and dry. Suddenly, there was a knock at the window-
Jorge jumped as he heard a loud noise outside. He looked up at the window, but it was just the wind knocking a tree branch against the windowpane. Jorge turned his attention back to the page.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the window. George knew better than to open the window on a dark and stormy night, however. Strange things had been happening in town recently. People had been disappearing, some of them from the safety of their own homes. No one ever saw anyone leave, but every morning more and more houses were empty. It was enough to make a man refuse to answer a knock on the window on a stormy night.
BANG! Jorge jumped as the tree branch hit his window again. He began to wish he had chosen another book to read, but somehow he just couldn't bring himself to put this one down. He continued down the page.
The knocking stopped and George hoped that whoever it had been would move along to the next house. He turned back to the bookshelves that lined his room, neatly lined with his favorite novels. He selected one and was about to begin reading when he heard a long, groaning creak. It seemed to come from behind the bookshelves, but that was impossible. The wall behind the bookshelves was solid stone. Still George reached out and pushed, tentatively, on the bookshelf. It swung open to reveal a secret passage. George knew the passage hadn't been there that morning.
Jorge sighed happily. He loved stories that began with secret passages, and this one looked like it would be good. Before he could continue reading, however, he heard a noise. Not just any noise, but a long, groaning creak. Jorge lifted his eyes to the bookshelves on the other side of the room. He could have sworn that the sound came from the bookshelf. He got up, slowly, and approached. This was crazy; he knew there was nothing behind the bookshelf. He had bought the shelf with his father and put it against the solid plaster wall of his bedroom. But still, Jorge reached out to push the bookshelf. He watched as, slowly but surely, the bookshelf swung open. Behind it was a long, dark passage.
A blast of cold air rushed up from the passage and hit Jorge in the face. He looked down at the book in his hand. He looked at the dark tunnel. He could see a gleam of light somewhere farther down the tunnel. Jorge took a deep breath and stepped hesitatingly into the passage. The bookshelf suddenly slammed shut behind him, cutting him off from his bedroom. He rushed to push it open, but the bookshelf wouldn't budge. Jorge held the book tightly and steeled his nerves. If he couldn't go back, he could only go forward. Jorge began walking away from his bedroom, away from his armchair and the comfort of his home. Each step took him farther into the dark and mysterious tunnel.
It was a stormy Thursday evening, much like any other, when Jorge hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign outside his bedroom door. The sign was part of an agreement he had with his parents. Jorge's parents were big believers in personal privacy and would do their best not to bother him when that sign was on his door. In return, Jorge never put the sign on the door unless all of his chores were completed and he had finished his homework.
Closing the door behind him, Jorge turned back into his bedroom. The navy blue walls glowed in the lamplight as his feet padded across soft carpet to the tall steel bookshelves that lined the side of the room. Jorge ran his finger across the spines of the books neatly lined up like soldiers at attention.
What did he want to read this evening? Jorge loved this moment of anticipation, when he hadn't yet decided what he wanted to read and the evening held unforeseen adventures. It was almost better than the actual moment when he sank into his armchair and disappeared into the foreign, exciting world of a new book. Almost.
Some people read books to glean information. Others read books to improve themselves. Finally, there are those people who read books to escape. Jorge was part of this third group of readers. It wasn't that Jorge's life was especially horrible. He had friends whom he played basketball with every week, and he liked his classmates at school. But Jorge felt like his life was lived in shades of gray, while the books he read were in bright, vivid Technicolor. There just wasn't much happening in his small, Midwestern town. There were thirty-nine kids in his ninth-grade class; they were the same thirty-nine kids who had been in his kindergarten class. They would probably be the same thirty-nine people in his senior class. Jorge loved his parents, but they were both accountants and had been doing the same job every day of his entire life. They weren't exactly the stuff of intrigue and adventure.
Jorge's favorite books were about spies. Reading about counter-terrorism units and political assassins made his heart race, in a good way. But on this particular Thursday, Jorge wasn't in the mood for spy novels. He let his hand drift past them and skipped over the science fiction. None of his usual favorites appealed to him today.
Jorge was about to turn away from the bookshelf in surrender when he glimpsed a battered leather book on one of the bottom shelves. The book was so old that the gilded title on the spine had worn off. Jorge gently pulled the book out and opened it. He slowly flipped through the delicate, yellowed pages to the title page. "The Armchair Traveler," by Herman Castillo, Jorge read. He didn't recognize the title or the author. His grandfather had sent a box of old books to Jorge last month, and this book must have been in that pile. Perhaps his mother or father had placed it on the shelf.
"Well," Jorge thought to himself, "this is definitely better than going downstairs to help wash the dishes." He went to his armchair and settled into a comfortable position against the smooth, caramel leather. He pulled the lamp closer to light the pages. Then, comfortably situated and ready to begin, Jorge opened the book.
The first page after the title only had a single word on it: "Beware." The writing was bold and black, a warning. Goosebumps rose on Jorge's arms, but he turned the page, eager to read on. Two sentences, in italics, sat in the middle of the second page: "Those who travel from the safety of an armchair like to think they are safe. They are wrong."
Jorge smiled in satisfaction. He wasn't quite sure what those sentences meant, but they sounded promisingly threatening. "Now this is more like it," he thought. "This is the kind of beginning a mysterious thriller should have."
Jorge flipped the page again to the beginning of Chapter 1.
Outside rain poured and thunder boomed but inside the house it was warm and dry. Suddenly, there was a knock at the window-
Jorge jumped as he heard a loud noise outside. He looked up at the window, but it was just the wind knocking a tree branch against the windowpane. Jorge turned his attention back to the page.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the window. George knew better than to open the window on a dark and stormy night, however. Strange things had been happening in town recently. People had been disappearing, some of them from the safety of their own homes. No one ever saw anyone leave, but every morning more and more houses were empty. It was enough to make a man refuse to answer a knock on the window on a stormy night.
BANG! Jorge jumped as the tree branch hit his window again. He began to wish he had chosen another book to read, but somehow he just couldn't bring himself to put this one down. He continued down the page.
The knocking stopped and George hoped that whoever it had been would move along to the next house. He turned back to the bookshelves that lined his room, neatly lined with his favorite novels. He selected one and was about to begin reading when he heard a long, groaning creak. It seemed to come from behind the bookshelves, but that was impossible. The wall behind the bookshelves was solid stone. Still George reached out and pushed, tentatively, on the bookshelf. It swung open to reveal a secret passage. George knew the passage hadn't been there that morning.
Jorge sighed happily. He loved stories that began with secret passages, and this one looked like it would be good. Before he could continue reading, however, he heard a noise. Not just any noise, but a long, groaning creak. Jorge lifted his eyes to the bookshelves on the other side of the room. He could have sworn that the sound came from the bookshelf. He got up, slowly, and approached. This was crazy; he knew there was nothing behind the bookshelf. He had bought the shelf with his father and put it against the solid plaster wall of his bedroom. But still, Jorge reached out to push the bookshelf. He watched as, slowly but surely, the bookshelf swung open. Behind it was a long, dark passage.
A blast of cold air rushed up from the passage and hit Jorge in the face. He looked down at the book in his hand. He looked at the dark tunnel. He could see a gleam of light somewhere farther down the tunnel. Jorge took a deep breath and stepped hesitatingly into the passage. The bookshelf suddenly slammed shut behind him, cutting him off from his bedroom. He rushed to push it open, but the bookshelf wouldn't budge. Jorge held the book tightly and steeled his nerves. If he couldn't go back, he could only go forward. Jorge began walking away from his bedroom, away from his armchair and the comfort of his home. Each step took him farther into the dark and mysterious tunnel.
Answers
Answer
Imagine how the story might continue after Jorge enters the passage
Requirements/Writer's Checklist:
• Use 3rd Person Point of View - Remember, you are speaking as the narrator, so use 3 pronouns like "he" and "his."
• Your story should be 1-2 pages (double-spaced) and should include the following:
• Setting- Use sensory language to describe where the passageway leads.
• Characterization- Create at least one character Jorge meets. Use sensory lang! descriptive!
• Dialogue- Include a conversation between Jorge and the new character. (Must lines of dialogue, properly punctuated.)
• Resolution & Conclusion- How does the story end?
• Use active voice. Avoid using too many being verbs like is, was, were, etc.
• 3 paragraphs minimum (1-2 pages, double-spaced)
• Use proper spelling and conventions, including MLA Format.
Requirements/Writer's Checklist:
• Use 3rd Person Point of View - Remember, you are speaking as the narrator, so use 3 pronouns like "he" and "his."
• Your story should be 1-2 pages (double-spaced) and should include the following:
• Setting- Use sensory language to describe where the passageway leads.
• Characterization- Create at least one character Jorge meets. Use sensory lang! descriptive!
• Dialogue- Include a conversation between Jorge and the new character. (Must lines of dialogue, properly punctuated.)
• Resolution & Conclusion- How does the story end?
• Use active voice. Avoid using too many being verbs like is, was, were, etc.
• 3 paragraphs minimum (1-2 pages, double-spaced)
• Use proper spelling and conventions, including MLA Format.
Answered by
GPT-4o mini
With every step, Jorge's heart raced, pounding in his chest like the distant thunder outside. The air was cool and musty, carrying with it the scent of damp stone and secrets long held. The light he had seen from the entrance of the passage flickered, illuminating the uneven walls just enough to guide him deeper. A thrill ran down his spine as he realized he was living the adventure he had always sought in books.
He glanced back toward where he had come from, a mixture of fear and exhilaration coursing through him. There was no turning back now; the thrill of the unknown beckoned him forward. Remembering the words from the book, "Those who travel from the safety of an armchair like to think they are safe. They are wrong," he couldn't help but smile. Perhaps he was about to find out just how right that statement was.
As Jorge walked, the tunnel twisted and turned, and suddenly the gleam of light grew brighter, spilling into the passage like a beckoning invitation. He reached a large archway that opened into a cavernous room. The light illuminating the space seemed to emanate from strange luminescent crystals embedded in the walls, casting dancing shadows around him.
In the center of the room stood an ornate pedestal with a dusty globe resting on top. It looked ancient, covered in strange symbols and markings that Jorge couldn't decipher. Curiosity overcame him, and he moved closer, reaching out to touch the globe. As his fingers brushed against its surface, a shockwave of energy surged through him, filling him with an inexplicable sense of power and urgency.
The globe spun slowly at first, then began to pick up speed, each revolution revealing glimpses of places and times Jorge had only read about. The colors were vibrant, alive, unlike the drabness of his everyday life. He blinked, captivated, as one scene caught his eye—an image of a bustling marketplace filled with vibrant stalls, exotic spices, and people laughing. He felt a pull, an invitation to step inside the breathtaking display.
Just as he was about to lose himself in the possibilities, a voice echoed from the shadows of the cavern. "You shouldn't be here."
Startled, Jorge turned to find a figure emerging, cloaked in darkness. It was a woman, her age indiscernible but her presence commanding. Jorge's breath caught in his throat, his heart a drum in his chest. The woman stepped closer, the soft glow from the crystals revealing her sharp features and piercing eyes that seemed to see right through him.
"Please," she continued, softer now but with an urgency that made Jorge's skin prick. "You must leave this place. The world is not safe for someone like you."
"But I don’t want to leave! This is... incredible!" Jorge protested, glancing back at the spinning globe. "I want to explore. I want to see those places."
The woman's expression softened for a moment, and Jorge saw a flicker of something like understanding in her gaze. "Many have sought adventure here, but not all return with their sanity intact. The journeys this globe offers are not mere escapades. They can be perilous—filled with challenges that will test the very fibers of who you are."
A shiver ran down Jorge's spine. He thought of the disappearances in his town, and the unsettling feeling crept back into his mind. "What do you mean? What kind of challenges?"
The woman stepped closer, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper. "Every adventure comes at a cost. Once you commit to a journey, be prepared to face your greatest fears and darkest truths. You are not just a traveler; you become part of the story, entwined in its very fabric. If you wish to leave this place with your soul intact, you must think carefully."
Jorge's heart raced with conflicting emotions. The idea of being ensnared in a life-altering adventure both terrified and excited him. He thought about his life, the mundane days that bled into one another. There were moments of happiness, but a part of him was always searching for something more.
In that moment of uncertainty, he felt the weight of the leather book resting in his hand. The choice was his; the thrill of adventure lay just beyond reach. With a deep breath, he contemplated what lay ahead. Would he take the plunge into the unknown, risking everything for the sake of adventure? Or would he retreat to the comfort of the familiar, forever wondering what could have been?
"Tell me," he murmured, "what must I do to prove I am ready?”
The woman's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and she regarded him silently for what felt like an eternity. Finally, she spoke, "The globe is your guide, but you must be the one to decide your path. Whatever journey you choose, you will not embark alone. Remember that your choices hold weight, not just for yourself, but for those who cross your path. Are you prepared to bear that burden?"
Feeling resolute, Jorge nodded. If he was ever going to find out who he was meant to be, it would start here. "I'm ready." The words felt electrifying.
With a flick of her wrist, the glow from the crystals brightened momentarily, reflecting off the globe. "Very well," she said. "Choose wisely, and good luck. You may need it."
Jorge's fingers hovered above the globe, slowly spinning it to reveal a myriad of possibilities. There were places he recognized, places he had never imagined—adventures waiting to be captured in the luminance of his own story. Each potential journey beckoned closer than the last, and Jorge took a deep breath, ready to traverse whatever adventure awaited him on the far side of the globe.
He glanced back toward where he had come from, a mixture of fear and exhilaration coursing through him. There was no turning back now; the thrill of the unknown beckoned him forward. Remembering the words from the book, "Those who travel from the safety of an armchair like to think they are safe. They are wrong," he couldn't help but smile. Perhaps he was about to find out just how right that statement was.
As Jorge walked, the tunnel twisted and turned, and suddenly the gleam of light grew brighter, spilling into the passage like a beckoning invitation. He reached a large archway that opened into a cavernous room. The light illuminating the space seemed to emanate from strange luminescent crystals embedded in the walls, casting dancing shadows around him.
In the center of the room stood an ornate pedestal with a dusty globe resting on top. It looked ancient, covered in strange symbols and markings that Jorge couldn't decipher. Curiosity overcame him, and he moved closer, reaching out to touch the globe. As his fingers brushed against its surface, a shockwave of energy surged through him, filling him with an inexplicable sense of power and urgency.
The globe spun slowly at first, then began to pick up speed, each revolution revealing glimpses of places and times Jorge had only read about. The colors were vibrant, alive, unlike the drabness of his everyday life. He blinked, captivated, as one scene caught his eye—an image of a bustling marketplace filled with vibrant stalls, exotic spices, and people laughing. He felt a pull, an invitation to step inside the breathtaking display.
Just as he was about to lose himself in the possibilities, a voice echoed from the shadows of the cavern. "You shouldn't be here."
Startled, Jorge turned to find a figure emerging, cloaked in darkness. It was a woman, her age indiscernible but her presence commanding. Jorge's breath caught in his throat, his heart a drum in his chest. The woman stepped closer, the soft glow from the crystals revealing her sharp features and piercing eyes that seemed to see right through him.
"Please," she continued, softer now but with an urgency that made Jorge's skin prick. "You must leave this place. The world is not safe for someone like you."
"But I don’t want to leave! This is... incredible!" Jorge protested, glancing back at the spinning globe. "I want to explore. I want to see those places."
The woman's expression softened for a moment, and Jorge saw a flicker of something like understanding in her gaze. "Many have sought adventure here, but not all return with their sanity intact. The journeys this globe offers are not mere escapades. They can be perilous—filled with challenges that will test the very fibers of who you are."
A shiver ran down Jorge's spine. He thought of the disappearances in his town, and the unsettling feeling crept back into his mind. "What do you mean? What kind of challenges?"
The woman stepped closer, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper. "Every adventure comes at a cost. Once you commit to a journey, be prepared to face your greatest fears and darkest truths. You are not just a traveler; you become part of the story, entwined in its very fabric. If you wish to leave this place with your soul intact, you must think carefully."
Jorge's heart raced with conflicting emotions. The idea of being ensnared in a life-altering adventure both terrified and excited him. He thought about his life, the mundane days that bled into one another. There were moments of happiness, but a part of him was always searching for something more.
In that moment of uncertainty, he felt the weight of the leather book resting in his hand. The choice was his; the thrill of adventure lay just beyond reach. With a deep breath, he contemplated what lay ahead. Would he take the plunge into the unknown, risking everything for the sake of adventure? Or would he retreat to the comfort of the familiar, forever wondering what could have been?
"Tell me," he murmured, "what must I do to prove I am ready?”
The woman's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and she regarded him silently for what felt like an eternity. Finally, she spoke, "The globe is your guide, but you must be the one to decide your path. Whatever journey you choose, you will not embark alone. Remember that your choices hold weight, not just for yourself, but for those who cross your path. Are you prepared to bear that burden?"
Feeling resolute, Jorge nodded. If he was ever going to find out who he was meant to be, it would start here. "I'm ready." The words felt electrifying.
With a flick of her wrist, the glow from the crystals brightened momentarily, reflecting off the globe. "Very well," she said. "Choose wisely, and good luck. You may need it."
Jorge's fingers hovered above the globe, slowly spinning it to reveal a myriad of possibilities. There were places he recognized, places he had never imagined—adventures waiting to be captured in the luminance of his own story. Each potential journey beckoned closer than the last, and Jorge took a deep breath, ready to traverse whatever adventure awaited him on the far side of the globe.
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