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Voice Message
Quiz by Mojgan Abbasi
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PROMPT QUIZILIZE AI Create an Arabic listening quiz (Istima') for beginner students. Requirements: Generate a female Arabic voice reading the text slowly and clearly. Do not display the reading text before students answer. Students must listen to the audio first. Create 10 multiple-choice questions based on the audio. Each question has 4 answer choices (A, B, C, D). Only one answer is correct. Show the correct answer after students submit. Randomize answer positions. Use simple Arabic suitable for middle school students. After answering correctly, automatically move to the next question without requiring a "Next" button. At the end, display the final score and a congratulatory message in Arabic. Listening Text: اِسْمِي عَائِشَةُ. أَنَا طَالِبَةٌ فِي الصَّفِّ السَّابِعِ. أُحِبُّ مَدْرَسَتِي لِأَنَّ فِيهَا مَرَافِقَ جَمِيلَةً. فِي الصَّبَاحِ أَذْهَبُ إِلَى الفَصْلِ لِلدِّرَاسَةِ. وَفِي وَقْتِ الِاسْتِرَاحَةِ أَذْهَبُ إِلَى المَكْتَبَةِ لِقِرَاءَةِ القِصَصِ. أَحْيَانًا أَذْهَبُ إِلَى المَلْعَبِ مَعَ صَدِيقَاتِي. أَنَا سَعِيدَةٌ فِي مَدْرَسَتِي. Questions: مَا اسْمُ الطَّالِبَةِ؟ A. فَاطِمَةُ B. عَائِشَةُ C. زَيْنَبُ D. مَرْيَمُ Correct Answer: B فِي أَيِّ صَفٍّ تَدْرُسُ عَائِشَةُ؟ A. الصَّفُّ الخَامِسُ B. الصَّفُّ السَّادِسُ C. الصَّفُّ السَّابِعُ D. الصَّفُّ الثَّامِنُ Correct Answer: C هَلْ تُحِبُّ عَائِشَةُ مَدْرَسَتَهَا؟ A. نَعَمْ B. لَا C. أَحْيَانًا D. لَا تَعْرِفُ Correct Answer: A لِمَاذَا تُحِبُّ عَائِشَةُ مَدْرَسَتَهَا؟ A. لِأَنَّهَا كَبِيرَةٌ B. لِأَنَّ فِيهَا مَرَافِقَ جَمِيلَةً C. لِأَنَّهَا قَرِيبَةٌ D. لِأَنَّ فِيهَا مَطْعَمًا Correct Answer: B إِلَى أَيْنَ تَذْهَبُ عَائِشَةُ فِي الصَّبَاحِ؟ A. إِلَى المَلْعَبِ B. إِلَى البَيْتِ C. إِلَى الفَصْلِ D. إِلَى المَكْتَبَةِ Correct Answer: C مَاذَا تَفْعَلُ عَائِشَةُ فِي الفَصْلِ؟ A. تَلْعَبُ B. تَقْرَأُ القِصَصَ C. تَدْرُسُ D. تَأْكُلُ Correct Answer: C إِلَى أَيْنَ تَذْهَبُ فِي وَقْتِ الِاسْتِرَاحَةِ؟ A. إِلَى المَكْتَبَةِ B. إِلَى البَيْتِ C. إِلَى المَسْجِدِ D. إِلَى المَطْعَمِ Correct Answer: A لِمَاذَا تَذْهَبُ إِلَى المَكْتَبَةِ؟ A. لِلَّعِبِ B. لِلكِتَابَةِ C. لِقِرَاءَةِ القِصَصِ D. لِلنَّوْمِ Correct Answer: C مَعَ مَنْ تَذْهَبُ إِلَى المَلْعَبِ؟ A. مَعَ أُسْرَتِهَا B. مَعَ مُعَلِّمَتِهَا C. مَعَ أَخَوَاتِهَا D. مَعَ صَدِيقَاتِهَا Correct Answer: D كَيْفَ تَشْعُرُ عَائِشَةُ فِي مَدْرَسَتِهَا؟ A. حَزِينَةٌ B. مُتْعَبَةٌ C. سَعِيدَةٌ D. غَاضِبَةٌ Correct Answer: C Final Message: أَحْسَنْتَ! لَقَدْ أَنْهَيْتَ اخْتِبَارَ الِاسْتِمَاعِ بِنَجَاحٍ. 🎉Create questions for students based on this information: experiences that make a person who they are. It is the unique combination of factors that define an individual and distinguish them from others. Identity can be shaped by various factors such as family, culture, society, gender, race, ethnicity, religion, and personal experiences. A person's identity can be complex and multifaceted and can change over time as they grow and develop. Voice, on the other hand, refers to the unique way in which a person expresses themselves through their writing or speaking. It includes the tone, style, and language that a person uses to convey their message. A person's voice can be influenced by their identity and personal experiences, as well as their audience and the purpose of their communication. Developing a strong and authentic voice is important for writers and speakers because it helps them connect with their audience and effectively convey their message. It is a key element of personal expression and communication.Revealing personal data can lead to threats like identity theft, fraud, bullying, and blackmail. 1.Identity Theft Definition: Identity theft occurs when someone steals your personal information and uses it without your permission. This can include your name, Social Security number, or bank details. Example: If someone gets your Social Security number, they could open a credit card in your name and run up bills that you would have to pay. 2.Fraud Definition: Fraud is when someone deceives another person to gain something of value, like money or personal information. This is often done through lies or tricks. Example: A person might call you pretending to be from your bank and tell you that you need to confirm your account details. If you give them your information, they may steal your money. 3. Bullying Definition: Bullying is when someone repeatedly hurts, threatens, or picks on another person. This can happen in person or online (cyberbullying). Example: If someone sends hurtful messages or spreads rumors about you on social media, that’s a form of bullying. 4. Blackmail Definition: Blackmail is when someone threatens to reveal harmful or embarrassing information about you unless you give them something they want, usually money or favors. Example: If someone takes a private photo of you and threatens to share it unless you pay them, that’s blackmail. Summary Identity Theft: Stealing personal information for illegal use. Fraud: Deceiving someone for personal gain. Bullying: Repeatedly hurting or threatening someone. Blackmail: Threatening to expose information unless demands are met. Understanding these terms helps you recognize and protect yourself from potential dangers in both real life and online. If you see any signs of these actions happening, it’s important to talk to a trusted adult or authority figure. There are several guidelines for you to be aware of to keep your personal data confidential: •Have strong passwords set on any account that holds personal data. Stronger passwords include characters, numbers and symbols and are not a recognisable word. •Encrypt (scramble text so that it cannot be read without a decryption key) any personal data that you store on your computer. •Have a firewall present, scanning incoming and outgoing data from your computer system. firewall : a security measure that can be implemented to monitor traffic into and out of a computer and prevent external users gaining unauthorised access to a computer system. A firewall is a security measure that helps protect a computer system by monitoring and controlling the traffic that comes into and goes out of the system. Think of it as a barrier between your computer and the outside world. It prevents unauthorized users from accessing your computer while allowing authorized traffic to pass through. •Regularly scan your computer with preventative software, such as an anti-virus package, that is used to identify a virus on a computer and remove it. Anti-virus: software that is used to identify a virus on a computer and remove it •Make use of any biometric devices (devices that measures a person's biological data, such as thumbprints), that are built into technology. biometric devices: Unique physical characteristic of a person that can be used by a computer for identification purposes. https://www.aratek.co/news/biometric-devices-definition-and-examples Biometric devices are tools that use unique physical characteristics of a person for identification purposes. This means they can recognize who you are based on features that are unique to you. Here are some examples of biometric characteristics: Fingerprint Recognition, Facial Recognition, Voice Recognition •Only visit and provide data to websites that are a trusted source. •Do not open any email attachments from a sender you do not recognise. •Check the URL attached to any link requesting data to see if it is genuine. •Be cautious about any pictures or opinions that you post or send to people. •Remove data about your location that is normally attached to your photos and videos that you may post, such as geotags. Geotag: an electronic tag that assigns a geographical location A geotag is an electronic tag that assigns a specific geographical location to a piece of information, like a photo or a video. Geotags can help people understand where a photo was taken or where an event occurred, making it easier to organize and find information based on location. •Do not become friends on social networking sites with people you do not know. •Set all the privacy controls to the most secure setting that are available on social media accounts. •Report and block any suspicious user. •Use a nickname or pseudonym when using the internet for entertainment, for example, playing games. •If it is possible, use a virtual private network (VPN), an encrypted connection that can be used to send data more securely across a network. Virtual private network (VPN) : an encrypted connection that can be used to send data more securely across a network A Virtual Private Network (VPN) is a special way to connect to the internet that keeps your information safe. Imagine you are sending a secret message to a friend. You want to make sure no one else can read it while it travels. A VPN helps you do just that! It creates an encrypted connection, which means it turns your message into a code that only your friend can understand Example: Public Wi-Fi Safety: When you use public Wi-Fi, like in a café, your data can be easily accessed by hackers. If you connect to a VPN while using that public Wi-Fi, your data is encrypted, making it much harder for anyone to steal your information. “On this night, we share a roof protecting us from fleets of inequity. Our unification promises a better tomorrow. Those larger than myself, sitting on their marble thrones, sipping blood from cups composed of human skin and singing songs of so-called virtue, grow weaker each moment. Their caravans are revolting. There is hope yet. There is progress! Though tonight may mark a countdown, it is still a celebration. Look at all we have done, not just for Trials but for Palatium Infra as a whole. In four years, when I’m no longer Sovereignty, the Spoiled Purity and his people will continue to strive. So drink! Smoke! Crush up those exotic plants and snort them! We will not falter, weaken, or wane. Our influence is expanding, and somebody new opens their eyes every day. Even the Silbys of Aculeus have reached alarming potentials despite their embittered minds. So long as you relish in tonight, dance, and pray to your “dead” Gods, our revolution shall rise beyond the bounds of class, and when I’m only a commoner, we shall rise again beyond our brainwashed adversaries! Cheers, my people. Cheers!” Followers raised their cups. Some clinked theirs together. Others stood still and screamed breathlessly in agreement. I smiled with courtesy, then stepped off my platform. My voice still rang across the cellar. Speeches before were grander. Those displays were supposed to be emptying, and yet this one left me bloated, swollen tight. I watched as they popped the corks of their bottles and chanted in the name of Purity. Maybe the quality of my words wasn’t what mattered to them anyway, so long as I screamed loud enough. There’s no merit in attacking your people, a voice corrected me. “That’s right,” I said aloud. “Knox, my-my Sovereign!” squealed a nearby devotee, jittering as he stuffed his face with catered pastries. He was one I’d never seen before or had failed to remember. “Look what I’ve found! It’s wine, and not the shoddy Infran kind, either. Earth-made with good fruit! I don’t know how anyone managed to get their hands on this. Maybe some space travel mischief.” He giggled and held up a small glass bottle. “How neat.” “I want you to have it, Sir.” I nodded my head. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Backing off into the midst of rowdy disciples, I clutched the bottle. What a waste of grapes. It could have been jam instead. Earthly food had a superior taste, ripe with delicate intricacies and nostalgia, but Palatium Infra had mastered the art of alcohol. Why waste your time with a drunkenness so sad and sickening? The booze of trash. Not many more followers approached me. The barren peroration must have upset them. My hands itched to submerge into my suit pockets, and my legs stood suddenly numb, wobbling. Four more years until I’m nothing. But tonight, you are nothing. “Shut up,” I told myself. Tightly packed together in the corner of the dwelling sat the Sibyls. A mound of writhing fabric and tones of skin made up their unified silhouette. I snapped the strap of the nearest gown, balancing on my hands and knees, waving the bottle before them. In their almost rodent nature, narrow noses prodded my way. Their dresses wrinkled and fell to their ankles. Knees dropped, and eyes widened. Many grumbled at me like hungry she-beasts. Those newer ones with faded curtains for hair, sunken eyes, and dirtied nails looked, hid their face, then sobbed. I imagined them in a pack together, fighting wildly against the Spoiled Purity in their rat decorum–biting down with square teeth laced with rabies. “I’ve got you all something,” I said. “Go back off to your pedestal and yap some more. We don’t want it.” A woman rose from the pile and spat. “You don’t even know what it is yet. It's Earth hooch, or more likely a near-flawless replica. I figured you girls would also like a chance to enjoy yourselves tonight.” “Your playmates have been harassing us since the moment you hung the banners and opened the cellar door.” The youngest, with a striking cyan mop upon her head, uncoiled from the mass. What was she now? 20, 21? We celebrated a birthday recently, I thought as she spun around me. “I remember something about a promise. Multiple promises, actually. Are you trying to bribe us into just shutting up and taking it? Because if another sticky, 40-year-old, Earth-born virgin gropes my shoulder, I’m going to have an aneurysm!” the girl continued. “Why not an Infran follower? Do you like it when they touch you?” I returned her accusing tone. “I’m sorry, sweet prophets, that you feel I’ve neglected my duties. I’ll keep a better eye out. Remember, you can always just holler if somebody is bothering you. And Anwen, friend, if I’ve ever tried to bribe you with anything, it was certainly the hair dye. I mean, look at you! Such handsomeness!” I exclaimed. The other Siblys began to encircle her, uttering compliments or even announcements of their envy. Anwen disappeared in a wink with flushed cheeks back into the mound. “I’ll just leave this here.” Smiling, I set down the bottle. ** “141, 143. . .” I counted each step as I trekked the staircase. There was no doubt I lost track somewhere. The ledges kept spawning under my feet, infinitely multiplying until I wasn’t moving at all–swallowing me up in a whirlpool of stone. My tie still hung around my neck, and my blazer remained tied around my hips as a skirt. Streaks of red dribbled off from the cavity in my chest. It was a gorgeous marking, sensual to my fingertips as I traced its edges. Purity, oh, Purity. Purity and his wings of burnt skin. Purity and his many faces. Purity the spoiled. Purity the mutilated. The Silbys did not bother waiting for me. On bare feet, they stormed up the stairs to their room. A trail of red, though in paint unlike mine, streamed after them. None looked remotely near me as they squeaked and gossiped intangibly. I saved them, those Infran broads, enlightened them. As much as they liked to deny it, spit at me, and bask in the thought of their victimhood, in this home, they stood empowered. You’ve done well, my thoughts affirmed, though in the manner of an insincere commentator rather than a hype man. Teeth grace in tile violin goes laundry paper when. It dissolved into an intruding drivel. I rubbed my head and sniveled. “Do you need help, Knox?” called a Silby. Fattened by my coddling, her shadow fell upon me from the doorway steps ahead. I attempted counting again. There must’ve been at least another hundred between me and her. “I’m hallucinating some,” I said, breathing deeply to suppress a burp as I struggled to recall her name. Two syllables. Typically Latin, though sometimes English. Drops of slobber leaked from my mouth. “I’m hallucinating some, Tybal. Do you like your name, Tybal? I would have named you something better. Ty-Tyballinia. No, we’d have to eliminate the ‘ball’ aspect. It sounds too crude.” “One foot in front of the other,” she said. So I walked. Mess greeted me at the doorway. Dirtied culinary obscured the dark wooden countertops, and the sink lay running. I approached the kitchen table, sat, and set my face down upon its cool wooden surface. Assaulting my nose was the smell of neglected flowers, like soil mixed with the kind of sweet cough medicine that would have left me gagging as a child. Open windows whispered songs of the twilight hour through the vessels of busy trolleys and shooting guns. My mouth strained to vomit, but there was nothing in my stomach to regurgitate except the petals of Stulto’s bloom, which came out effortlessly in little sputters. Teetering, I stood up and brushed disgorged plant parts off the tabletop. “Love,” I said as I slogged up yet another staircase. “Are you awake?” She said she’d wait. Somebody’s gotten her. No, she always misses movie night. That sleepyhead, I assured myself. There was a stirring amidst the manor’s cloak of dusk. Portraits of myself, my wife, and my daughter turned to face me as the hallway lights flickered, escaping their quartz frames to penetrate my ears with nonsense. The taxidermied heads of Infran creatures bared their teeth. I stopped to stare at my favorite, an adabactor with daunting spiked tusks poking out from its forehead. Its nose remained black and sharp, and its eyes wide with malice. “Where is my Spes, Adaba-boy? Is she sleepy?” There’s someone in the house. The sounds of the stirring rose along with my blood pressure. Footsteps orbited around me, drawing near and far and then near again, little dancers in the dark. The carpet immersed me in its mass of purples and blues, leaving my skin stained indigo and my vision abstracted. I toiled to reach the master bedroom across the aisle as it stretched out to me with bright lights and celestial howling, like a dove struggling in a pool of oil. Never again with Stulto’s bloom. Never again on what was already a bad night. My hand brushed the doorknob, and the high abruptly faded into only a persistent hum-buzz twirling around my brain. The portraits returned to their typical depression–Spes posing with her ax, Ari’s school photo, and myself in the cap I wore when addressing the military with the Verbis emblem embroidered in its center. All lifeless shots. Who were they for when they captured not the subject’s essence but only some fragment of their identity? They used to feel personal, not advertisements of some supposed characters. Servants, babysitters, and likewise civilian guests, I reminded myself, mustn’t forget whose home they’re in. Yet my body moved independently, taking Ari’s from its hook and laying it backward against the wall to hide her distant grin and tamed posture. It was time for new pictures. Sweet ones, real ones; time was ticking. I approached my own when the stirring began again. Groans and squeals erupted from the vents as if someone had set a pen of pigs loose in my crawlspace. No, not the crawlspace, my bedroom door. I turned the ruby knob. Underneath a blanket wrestled my two squealing piglets, their skins melting together beneath the layer of duvet. Fishnet leggings and manicured nails outstretched and scraped at the sheet beneath them. One raised its head, a salmon-colored man with sweat running down his forehead. Through the crack in the door, we met eyes, his Infran Dr. Sesuss nose flaring its narrow nostrils. No mark of the Spoiled Purity existed carved onto his naked body. My chest felt tight. I stepped back. I was suffocating. Spes emerged from the linens, her hair flowing down her back and her dark skin glistening in front of the bedroom window. She giggled and held the man, the blanket falling and revealing inches of her body I had not seen in months. “Darling,” whispered the rosy-faced man, “look.” He was unfathomably ugly and grotesquely young, with beady, lifeless pupils that dilated when he faced me. The excess flesh on his face sagged while he bit down on his thin lips. My wife faced me, gasped, and strained to cover herself. Suddenly, I was a stranger. A small child who had walked into his parents having sex. I unfurled the door completely. “Get out of my house,” I said. The man stayed in place. “Get out of my house,” I repeated. “Knox,” Spes began. Tears ran down her round cheeks. “Shut up!” I turned to the man, picking up a marble trophy from on top of my dresser. “Get out of my house! I’ll kill you!” “Knox!” Spes sobbed. “God damn it! I hate you! You barely look at me. Every day, there’s less passion. God, God, God, I don’t want to fuck a dead man!” she screamed, “You get out! Get! Get!” My hands wrapped tighter around the statue. That pig of a man was attached to her at the side, his face equipped with a scowl that challenged mine. He thought I was weak; frail like a decaying dementia-ridden senior. I imagined his skull bashed in, his scowl gone, and the feist and confidence in his face beaten into numbness. A new portrait was in order of such brutality, him as a splintered slab of wood, rashed and beaten, a carcass licking my boot. The churning in my brain had come back. Every wall shook. Clock faces came to life and rang in alarm. Indescribable noises caressed my eardrum before breaking into sorrowful weeps. Was it my own? I stared at Spes in motionless frenzy, clenched my teeth, and screamed like a siren. Passionless. What a lie! An excuse, more like. One that erased all my ventures, reducing me to a nobody. But I was not a nobody. I thought of my sect, my campaigns, my endurance through the political brutality of my empty hive-mind world–even my collection of literature, maps, and artifacts. I thought of daring nights alone with Spes when we were young, ravaging each other, two sardonic eggheads suddenly overcome with desire. The veins in my neck throbbed as I gasped for air. It was all I had. I threw the figurine at the man’s head. Eye shut, I heard the thud. A million singing voices of victory flooded out of the cracks in the floorboard. Proving myself a man to the woman I loved in a display of fervent violence was passion. I strained my ears for his cries, though I did not look yet. There had to be a pause, a moment of relief, where I stood tall as a skyscraper and seemingly fought to stay contained in front of my wife and her wounded, quivering paramour. Frantic footsteps rushed off the bed and past my side. I turned and grappled against myself to seize my wife’s shoulder. “Spes!” My eyelids lifted. Escaping was the man with that same numb expression in which I had imagined him. “You’re insane,” he said. I swiveled back towards the bed. With her curly locks flowing over her breasts and her limbs bent at her sides, Spes sat limp pressed against the headboard, her forehead bludgeoned and the statue resting on her stomach. Lips pursed and sweet, my Renaissance beauty reclined there in the guise of a squashed bug. But she was not dead. The desk ornament I flung was only the size of my shoe. Spes, that dramatist, may have been slightly hurt but was far from dead. She only wanted me to think she was to observe me at my most distraught, like a leech feeding on misery. “Get up.” Staggering toward the bed, I said. “You wanted passion? I showed you passion. ‘Shoved it right into your head. Of course, we both know who that gesture was meant for. . .” I fumbled to find my wit. Cold skin met my hands as I stroked her face, unable to resist checking her pulse, even though she was not dead. “I love you, Spes,” I said. Rain pelted against a nearby window. “Spes, please. Please.” No vibration answered my plea. I lifted my hand, sitting next to her now. Tears did not come. There was not any blood on the trophy, but when I picked it up, it felt to be now only a cruel instrument. It depicted a younger me in white marble, with my glasses and collared shirt being the only things painted. Both were in pink. It was a favorable color. I scrambled from the bed to vomit pure digestive bile on the rug. My stomach heaved. I ran my nails along every piece of myself I saw, a dog chasing my tail. As I slammed myself against walls and convulsed, my own heart grew ever louder in my chest. “Dad? I heard–” Ari’s slippered feet hammered across the floor. “Mom? Mom?” I kept my eyes on the storm. Silence fell. “She-She isn’t—your—.” Gasps interrupted every syllable she spoke. “You’re a murderer. Bad. Like they said,” she breathed, “ You beat her!” The words became mush, alphabet soup. Ari ran back down the hall. “My-My mom is dead. . . .Yes. . . Manor of the Trials Sovereignty. . .Ari Sorkin. . . I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me,” she said, presumably over the phone. It was all too fast. I crawled onto the windowsill, opened the glass, and let myself plummet into the alley below. Gusts of wind howled. The lack of motion or sensation informed me I had passed and again lived. Another Palatium Infra, another strange planet in which the celestial endowed rotting men with the opportunity to inhabit. Was this it? Was it all just an impossible limbo of galactic traveling? My surroundings were overwhelmingly gray, an abyss of clouds. Perhaps I had now met the real coming world, and my family and old friends lived here, ready to rush to my sides, lift me up, and jump for joy. Spes would be there. She would be enraged, but at least she’d be there. You are a bad man. You are a bad man. My eyelashes fluttered. There was a tugging sensation in my leg. The fog was wavering along with my ascendance. “No,” I yearned, trying to grip the clouds and stick them in place. “Stay with me.” But the peace was fleeting. I felt the cement under me and the moist garments clinging to my figure. My leg burned. Carefully, I craned my neck, only to observe the promenade as my surroundings. The most underwhelming of filth and danger, individually Infran. Forever my coming world. What a fool I was, having forgotten my blessing. Those idiot Gods could not tell the difference between assassination and self-infliction; a faulty insurance plan. The urge to cry at last set over me, and so I sat and wailed hot salvia into my palm, shielding my mouth to muffle the noise. Thunder echoed my hushed howling. Raindrops turned to pebbles. Under the ambiance of the stormy night, I could have sworn I heard troops stomping, guns cocking, and the chanting of my name. They had all been waiting for this. Billboards came to life, and I could only sit and spectate as the scenery flashed red. I inhaled fear and sobriety through runny nostrils. “Trials Sovereign Vsevolod “Knox” Sorkin is currently at large for the suspected homicide of Spes Sorkin, breaking the first term of the Sovereignty Charter. We now instruct you to report any sightings of the Earth-born, caucasian, roughly 195 centimeters tall, brown-haired, and brown-eyed man to your local Guard post. One can identify the suspected convict specifically by an occult tattoo of Purity’s Coronet on his lower back. No attempted execution or elongated punishment will take place until our Guards conduct an autopsy proving his guilt, per Life’s 1238 commandment. We cannot be sure when or if the Gods will revoke his blessing. Remember, when Gods frown upon strife, opt for a peaceful life. We permit all grieving festivities until Cagidus 4th. Good year!” towering buildings sang out in broadcast, repeating that same convoluted message quicker the instant it ended. Sometimes, the announcer spoke in Latin for the Infran children, other times in Chinese, Hindi, or Spanish to cater to those of irrelevant tongues. You aren’t a bad man. You are a stupid boy. Puddles sloshed. Somebody was approaching. I didn’t dare waste any remaining energy avoiding the Guards and their prodding blades. How did that phrase go? You dug your grave. Now lie in it. And so I embraced the cement. “Knox?” said the Guard. No, her tone was too sincere, and no authority would proceed in such a manner. There wasn’t confirmation on whether or not I was armed, and it wasn’t as if she could shoot me first. She was a partygoer, having just left from the cellar’s backdoor. I shooed her away with my hand. She hovered, and I discerned her shadow hesitating over my body. A man could not rot in peace. “Come on, get up! They’re after you!” Hands reached around my torso, struggling to handle my weight as they urged me onto my feet. That leg, the burning one, my right, trembled and bent unnaturally upon impact with the ground. The partygoer slung my arm over her shoulder, balancing me. My eyes caught a glimpse of a cyan mop. “Anwen?” I rasped, “hu-who let you out?” Keys jangled in her hands–my keys. “I escaped,” she said casually, coercing me to walk beside her. “Quicken your pace. I just heard somebody on your front porch. ‘You see that compost bin down the alley? We’re gonna burrow right down into the depth of that. If they open it and uncover us, I’ll be on top, and I can hide you and act like I’m just a homeless amica trying to take a nap.” With a tightening grip, she led me like livestock to the stinking crate. “I don’t understand, Anwen,” I said. “They’re going to torture and kill you, stupid. You know they’ve been wanting to, and you just handed the opportunity to them!” “I understand that.” It was becoming increasingly challenging to hide the fragility emerging in my voice. “You said you were escaping. Why stop and help your captor?” “What else could I do? Leave you there?” Attempts to shove my wounded body inside its mass of discarded fruits and vegetables began. She yanked down upon my head and submerged me in the fertilizer sea. The evidence grows indisputable, I thought as I stared at the abruptly humane Infran girl, diving in after me, that I belong here. “Damn me to hell! I’ve killed her! My love is dead!” an uncontrollable cry leaped from my mouth. “Shut up! Soon you’ll be, too, if you don’t quiet down.” The actual noise of the Guards darted past us: disorientated marching, guns clanking against each other, cluttered belts rattling, the Latin squawking. One paused to open the bin’s lid, though only rummaged through the surface layer of peat before carrying on. “What are they talking about? I struggle with my Latin,” I whispered. “The search, mainly.” Aggression remained firey in Anwen’s clenched jaw. Though she sat on top of me, there was a monumental distance between our rain-soaked forms. I curled up into a ball, ducked my head between my knees, and dreamt of Spes, ignoring the stench of spoiled food rising from every crevice of my dwelling. The next coming world was due to adopt me again as I forced sleep. I prayed for a canyon of fluffy haze, where I waltzed with pale memories but found nothing but the petrifying stillness of my mind. Killed and ran. Violent as a Guard just to prove a point and watch it backfire. Why would any heaven want to welcome me? I clung to the picture of Spes in my head like it was the last ember of an extinguished flame. “Did you mean to kill her?” Anwen interrogated. “Someone like you would immutably believe yes.” “And who is someone like me? You can’t even treat me like a person for a moment, can you?” grating drama decorated her words. “You know my opinions. I have not seen much of your or your breed’s faces besides that of cruelty and ignorance.” I retorted. “I just saved you! Does that make me cruel and ignorant?” “It makes you an idiot, which is another word for somebody ignorant.” “And why am I an idiot?” She asked. “Because you helping me does no good. Thank you anyhow. Now, do yourself a favor and scram.” As she bent her leg in anticipation, preparing to strike me on the forehead, I sensed an invisible withdrawal widening the gap between us. “You never answered my question,” Anwen took me by the end of my tattered tie suddenly and started her game of shepherd and sheep over again, pulling me back up to the crate’s exit. It appeared as a shining light at the end of a maze of rubbish and mold. “No. Of course not. Spes was my everything,” I sniffled. “I knew it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hit us, let alone murder your wife. The girls and I always figured you were sensitive.” My heart rate quickened. Today was one of humbling and misery–one to pray a hail spike would fall from the sky as sharp as a needle, pierce into my eyelid, and lobotomize me. I wished I could have merely died or hit my head hard enough not to have to deal with it all. No, I wished I was Anwen with her snarky, careless glow and lack of depth in her eyes. As we emerged from the compost bin together, I fantasized about strangling her until her face turned purple, her weakening spirit no longer categorizing me as “sensitive”, but the thought could only remind me of wielding that trophy and the microscopic traces of my wife’s tender skin tainting it, which turned my guts inside out. “That’s why I think you could use a little help,” Anwen said, “It seems like you can’t walk, either. Your leg is all twisted up.” She undid one of her trim pigtails and handed me the band. “Take off your tie and put up your hair. ‘Will make you less recognizable. Then swallow your pride and stick with me.”Broken windows are covered. Floorboards are patched and doors screwed back on. The road that was ruined by German tanks is shovelled and raked smooth. Boot-shaped bruises turn yellow then fade and disappear. Flowers grow and spread across the ugly German footprints stomped into garden beds. The village looks pretty once more. School stops for the summer and everyone is put to work on the kolkhoz, the village farm. Women and big boys begin harvesting the barley crops in the outer fields. The biggest girls milk the cows, morning and night, and keep the barns clean. Old Nikolay mends ploughs, horse harnesses, pitchforks and scythes in his workshop. Anna Pushinka teaches Yelena and her friends how to get the honey from the beehives that are scattered through the orchards. I am in charge of collecting eggs. My friends Olga and Nina help. Olga and Nina are five, a year younger than me. They are twins and look exactly alike, except Nina’s nose is a little bit crooked from when she fell out of bed and squashed it sideways on the floor. The hens, ducks and geese wander free in the summer, so collecting eggs is like a treasure hunt and takes hours. Catching the hens for their daily hugs takes even longer, but I think it’s important because hugs make everyone happy and happy hens lay bigger eggs. Olga says I’m the best hen-hugger in all of Russia. Nina says I’ll be the best cow-hugger, too, when my arms grow longer. But good hugs have nothing to do with the size of your arms. It’s all to do with the size of your heart. When we are done with the hens, Olga, Nina and I can spend the rest of the day doing whatever we like. We climb the apricot trees, chase squirrels, lie in the meadow marvelling at how hot Ushanka’s black fur becomes in the sunshine, make daisy chains and race little boats of bark in the stream. I teach Olga and Nina the alphabet and we use charcoal to write our letters and our names all over the village – on doors and walls and the freshly cut ends of firewood. In between, I practise my knots. In case the German princemonsters return. I slip into Old Nikolay’s workshop and tie knots in the harnesses hanging on the walls. I wander into gardens where the washing is hung out to dry and tie knots in the laces on pants and smocks. I creep up behind Anna Pushinka and tie knots in her apron strings. I find baling twine in the hay shed and tie my own ankles together. I do such a good job of these last knots that I can’t get them undone. I have to jump all the way to Olga and Nina’s house and ask them to cut me free with their mama’s knife. At the end of each day, Ushanka and I run out into the distant barley fields to meet Mama. This is my favourite part of the day, because Mama always shouts, ‘Little Rabbit!’ and smothers my head with kisses. And as we walk home, we sing. Everyone – women, big boys and me. I love to sing. Almost as much as I love to be kissed by Mama. Sometimes one of the boys, Mikhail, has his balalaika with him. He takes the instrument out from beneath the sheaves of barley piled high on the wagon and plays music. We sing about forests and orchards and people who find their true love. As we walk home, arm in arm, my heart fills with happiness and my belly swells with pride that I am allowed to sing along with the big boys. And I can almost forget about the German prince-monsters and their lies about Russia and their big ugly boots. Almost. But today, when Mikhail reaches for his balalaika, I see other things hiding beneath the barley sheaves. Three of the mamas rush forward and cover them up, but it’s too late. I know they are there. I’ve already seen them. Rifles. Lots of rifles. Mikhail hugs his balalaika to his chest and blushes. ‘So play!’ cries Mama, her voice oddly loud and high. ‘Let’s play Sasha’s favourite song, “The Little Birch Tree”.’ So Mikhail plays and everyone sings about the lovely birch tree with its curly leaves and the branches that will be turned into silver flutes. They sing too quickly, too loudly, and as they sing and walk, they cast nervous sideways glances at me. ‘It’s alright,’ I say, when the song comes to an end. ‘I didn’t see the rifles.’ Mama nods and smiles, and I know it was the right thing to say. But I did see the rifles. And I think about Yelena wanting to get lots of guns and dynamite for the Partisans so they can shoot the Germans and blow them into thousands of tiny pieces, and Mama looking as though she agreed, and I know this is what the mamas and the big boys are doing. As well as harvesting, they are helping the Partisans. Three days later, I wake before dawn and I am all alone. Yelena is always here beside me when I wake. But not this morning. I climb down from our bed above the stove. Mama is filling a cloth sack with bread. She ties it closed with a piece of string and hands it to Yelena. ‘Stay out of sight,’ says Mama. ‘And don’t return until after dark.’ ‘Where’s she going?’ I ask. ‘Nowhere,’ snaps Mama. ‘Then why does she need all that bread?’ I ask. ‘There’s nothing left for us.’ Mama baked four loaves last night and she has stuffed them all into the sack. Yelena opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Mama shoves her out the door and sends her on the way to nowhere. Mama turns and stares at me, her blue, blue cornflower eyes wide with worry. ‘I know,’ I say, flopping down on the bench. ‘I didn’t see any bread.’ Mama sits beside me and takes my hand. ‘And . . .?’ she prods, obviously waiting for more. I puzzle for a while, then say, ‘And I don’t have a sister called Yelena.’ Mama laughs, softly and with a little bit of sadness around the edges. ‘Sweet Little Rabbit! You do have a sister called Yelena.’ ‘I do?’ I ask, now confused. ‘I haven’t seen the rifles or the bread, but I have seen Yelena?’ ‘Yes.’ Mama smiles and the magic makes me smile, too. And I am glad that Yelena is real because I love her very much. ‘Yelena is real,’ Mama explains, ‘but she does not carry sacks of bread into the forest for the Partisans.’ ‘Of course not!’ I shout, slapping my forehead. ‘Because there is no bread!’ Mama laughs loudly now, with not a hint of sadness. She hugs me, pressing me against her warm, loving heart, covering my head with kisses. ‘Clever Little Rabbit,’ she murmurs, and then, in barely a whisper, ‘Your papa would be so proud.’ When I wake the next morning, Yelena is sleeping beside me, her mouth open, her braided hair unravelling. Mama is serving kasha to a strange woman seated at our table. I crawl down from above the stove and slide along the bench beside her. I stare at her pants, her tunic, the rope she is using as a belt and her big boots. She’s dressed like a man! And there’s a rifle leaning against the wall near the door. ‘Hello,’ I say. ‘I’m Sasha.’ The woman doesn’t reply. She just shovels down her kasha. I line my four wooden bears along the table in front of her bowl and say, ‘These are my bears: Big Bear, Medium Bear, Little Bear and Even Littler Bear.’ ‘Hello, Sasha. Hello, bears.’ She smiles but she doesn’t tell me her name. ‘Why are you dressed like a man?’ I ask, tugging at the sleeve of her tunic. ‘Because men’s clothes make it easier to run and climb and crawl and shoot,’ she says. ‘You’re a Partisan!’ I gasp. ‘But she’s not real,’ says Mama, placing a bowl of kasha before me. ‘Is the kasha real?’ I ask. Mama laughs. ‘Yes, Little Rabbit.’ I’m glad the food is real, because I’m hungry. But I’m disappointed that the woman is not real. I was going to ask if I could use her rope-belt to tie her ankles together. For practice. But if she’s not real, then the rope and her ankles aren’t either. The woman finishes her kasha, hangs her rifle over her shoulder, kisses Mama on the cheek then slips out the door. I run to the window to watch her leave, but by the time I get there, she’s gone. Vanished. ‘Because she’s not real,’ I whisper. A week later, Mama and I are working in the garden. We sing as we weed between the flowers and pluck caterpillars from the vegetables. Anna Pushinka is picking strawberries in her garden and wanders over. ‘Taste these,’ she says, holding out the basket. Mama reaches in and takes out a fat strawberry and a tiny piece of folded paper. The strawberry goes into her mouth, the paper into her pocket. ‘What’s on the paper?’ I ask. ‘Paper?’ Anna Pushinka replies with a wave of her hand. ‘Goodness, Sasha! Who has money for paper? These are lean times. We must choose between paper for writing and noodles for our soup. And I always choose noodles.’ She chuckles and I know the paper is yet another thing that is not real. That night, Mama slips the paper to Yelena, but she drops it on the floor. I pick it up for her, and I see that there are tiny words and numbers written all over it. I wish I could read better. I’m desperate to know what it says. Or rather, what it doesn’t say, because it’s not real. Later, when Mama has tucked us into our bed above the stove and Ushanka has wrapped herself around the top of my head, I ask Yelena, ‘What’s on the paper?’ ‘What paper?’ says Yelena. ‘The paper that isn’t real,’ I reply. Yelena stares at me, nibbling her lip, then whispers, ‘A message for the Partisans. Stuff about where the Germans have their headquarters and when their trains are travelling and where they store their ammunition.’ ‘Why?’ ‘So the Partisans can blow them up.’ Yelena grabs my arm. ‘But don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.’ ‘What’s a secret?’ I ask. ‘The message.’ ‘What message?’ I say, my eyes wide. Yelena laughs. ‘Good boy, Sasha.’ My belly swells with pride. I know how to play this game. ‘How are your knots coming along?’ asks Yelena. ‘Good! Yesterday, I crept into the dairy and tied knots in the apron strings of all the girls who were milking and only one of them noticed. Today, I tied Olga’s ankles together with Mama’s embroidery thread and just now, while you were taking a bath, I tied the sleeves of your blouse together in an enormous knot.’ Yelena rolls her eyes, then says, ‘I’ll see if I can find you some rope for practising.’ ‘Practising what?’ I ask. ‘Your knots,’ she says. ‘What knots?’ Yelena, my big sister who is twelve and always serious tHow is personal data collected? There are several ways that an unauthorised person can try and collect your data. These include: •phishing •smishing •vishing •pharming. Phishing Phishing is when a person sends a legitimate looking email to a user. The email contains a link to a website that also looks legitimate. The user is encouraged to click the link and to input personal data into a form on the website. The email could also simply ask the user to reply to the email with their personal data. The user is tricked into giving their personal data to a source that they believe is legitimate. However, both the email and the linked website are from a fake unauthorised source. The personal data that is input is then collected by an unauthorised person. This person can then use this data for criminal acts, for example, to commit fraud or steal the person's identity. Intimidation has become a common feature of phishing emails, threatening the user that they must click the link and rectify a situation immediately, or there will be a further issue. The aim of a phishing attack is to steal the user's personal data. Figure 5.1: Phishing. A real-life example of phishing PayPal have been the subject of several different phishing emails. Users receive an email that looks as though it has been sent from PayPal, as it has the PayPal branding. The email normally warns of an issue such as unexpected activity on their account, or that some kind of verification of their account is required. The user is then asked to click a link to log into their account and resolve the issue. The link takes them to a webpage that looks like the PayPal login page. If the user inputs their login details into this page, they will not be taken to their account. It is often at this stage that the user may realise that the email and webpage are fake. However, they have already given the unauthorised person their PayPal login details. Figure 5.2: An example of a phishing email claiming to be from PayPal. How to recognise phishing There are several guidelines to be aware of regarding emails to avoid being subjected to phishing. These include: •Don't even open an email that is not from a sender that you recognise or a trusted source. •Legitimate companies will never ask you for your personal data using email. Be immediately suspicious of any email that requests your personal data. •Legitimate companies will normally address you by your name. Be suspicious of any email that addresses you as ‘Dear Member' or ‘Dear Customer'. •Legitimate companies will send an email that uses their domain name. If you hover your mouse over the sender's name, it will show the email address that the email is sent from. If this does not look legitimate, for example, does not contain the correct domain name, then it is probably fake. For example, if the sender's email is user@paypal1.com rather than user@paypal.com, this is from an incorrect domain name. •Legitimate companies are protective of their professional reputation and thoroughly check any communications. They will make sure that all information given is grammatically and correctly spelt. Be suspicious of any email that contains bad grammar or spelling mistakes. •A link in an email from a legitimate company will also normally contain the domain name of the company. You can sometimes hover over the link, or right click and inspect the link, to see the address of the URL that is attached. If the URL does not contain the domain name, or also contains typical errors such as spelling mistakes, then be suspicious of this. PRACTICAL ACTIVITY 5.02 Ask a friend or a member of your family if they have ever received an email that they believed was a phishing email. Ask them how they identified it was phishing. Ask them if they know all of the given guidelines for identifying phishing emails. Smishing Smishing (or SMS phishing) is a variant of phishing that uses SMS text messages to lure the user into providing their personal details. The user is sent an SMS text message that either contains a link to a website, in the same way that phishing does, or it will ask the user to call a telephone number to resolve an urgent issue. The same advice can be followed for smishing as given for phishing. The user must question at all times any links that are sent from an unknown or suspicious user. It is advisable that if a user believes the message may be legitimate, to type in the domain name for the legitimate company website into their web browser, rather than following the link in the message. Users should block any numbers that they believe are suspicious to prevent any further risk of smishing from that number. Figure 5.3: Smishing. Vishing Vishing (or voice phishing) has the same aim as phishing, to obtain a user's personal details. The user receives a telephone call that could either be an automated system or could be a real person. An automated voice could speak to the user and advise them that an issue has occurred, such as there has been suspicious activity regarding their bank account. The user may then be asked to call another number, or just to simply press a digit and be directed to another automated system. This system will ask them to provide their bank account details to resolve the issue. The bank account details have then been obtained by the unauthorised user and can be used to commit a crime against the user. The automated system could be replaced by a real person who will try to do the same thing. They will try to convince the user that there has been an issue with an account they have and to provide the log-in details or PIN for the account to verify who they are so the issue can be resolved. The precaution to take for vishing is that no company will ever call you and ask you to provide any log-in details or PIN details over the telephone. They may ask you to provide other personal information, and if you are in doubt that the person on the other end of the phone is legitimate, it is always advisable to put the phone down and call the company back on a legitimate number that you may already know or can obtain. Figure 5.4: Vishing. Pharming Pharming is when an unauthorised user installs malicious code on a person's hard drive or server. The malicious code is designed to redirect a user to a fake website when they type in the address of a legitimate one. The fake website is designed to look like the legitimate one, to trick the user and make sure they are not aware that their request has been redirected. The user will then enter their personal details into the fake website, believing it is the legitimate one, and the unauthorised person will now have their personal data. A common technique used in pharming is called domain name server (DNS) cache poisoning. This technique exploits vulnerabilities in the DNS and diverts the internet traffic intended for a legitimate server toward a fake one instead. The unauthorised user needs to find a way to install the malicious code on the computer. They often hide the malicious code in an email attachment or link. When the user opens the email attachment or clicks the link, the malicious code is downloaded also. Figure 5.5: Pharming. The aim of a pharming attack is also to steal a user's personal data. A real-life example of pharming In 2007 50 different companies all over the world were subject to a pharming attack, these included PayPal, eBay, Barclays bank and American Express. Over a three-day period, hackers managed to infect over 1000 PCs a day with a malicious pharming code. When users who had been infected visited the websites of the different companies, they were redirected to a legitimate-looking version of the site that was designed to steal their personal data. The original email, containing the malicious code, was set up to look like a shocking news story. Users were encouraged to click a link in the email to find out more information. The code was downloaded when the user clicked the link. This was quite a sophisticated attack that required legitimate looking websites to be set up for a large number of companies. It is not known how much money the hackers were able to retrieve as a result. How to prevent pharming All of the guidelines to avoid being subjected to phishing are also relevant for recognising pharming. There are also several other precautions that can be taken to check for pharming attacks. These include: •Have a firewall installed and operational. A firewall monitors incoming and outgoing traffic from your computer. It checks this traffic against set criteria and will flag and stop any traffic that does not meet the criteria. A firewall could detect and block suspicious traffic, such as a malicious code trying to enter your system. •Have an anti-virus program installed that is designed to detect malicious pharming code. You need to scan your computer on a regular basis to check for any malicious code. It is advisable to set up an automatic scan on a daily basis at a time when your computer will normally be switched on. •Be aware when using public Wi-Fi connections. A hacker could look to directly access your computer and install the malicious code if you are connected to a public Wi-Fi connection. It is often advisable to use a VPN when using public Wi-Fi. This will help shield your internet activity and personal details from a hacker, making it more difficult for them to access your computer. Smishing can also be used as a form of pharming. A user is sent a link, that when they click is designed to download malware onto their mobile device. Therefore, it is advisable to have security software installed on your mobile and also scan it regularly to detect any presence of malware.1.Linguistics is the science that studies language. 2.Linguist:Someone who studies linguistics. 3.The Subfields of Linguistics Phonetics deals with the sounds of language. Phonology deals with how the sounds are organized. Morphology deals with how sounds are put together to form words. Syntax deals with how sentences are formed. Semantics deals with the meaning of words, sentences, and texts. Pragmatics deals with how sentences and texts are used in the world (i.e., in context) Text Linguistics deals with units larger than sentences, such as paragraphs and texts. 4.Prescriptive: This approach consists basically of stating what is considered right and wrong in language. 5.Descriptive: This approach, on the other hand, consists of describing the facts. Descriptive linguistics is dedicated to describing the rules of the language, and the language is seen as essentially rule governed. 6.Language is rule-governed, creative, universal, innate, and learned, all at the same time. 7.Linguists understand language as a system of arbitrary vocal signs. 8.Linguistic signs: involve sequences of sounds which represent concrete objects and events as well as abstractions.Signs may be related to the things they represent in a number of ways. 9.Iconic: which resemble the things they represent (as do, for example, photographs, diagrams, star charts, or chemical models). 10.Indexical: which point to or have a necessary connection with the things they represent (as do, for example, smoke to fire, a weathercock to the direction of the wind, a symptom to an illness, a smile to happiness, or a frown to anger). 11.Describe the characteristics of human language: Creative: (The structural elements of human language can be combined to produce new utterances, which neither the speaker nor his hearers may ever have made or heard before.) Rule-governed: (Language is made of rules.) Universal: (There are some aspects that are present in all languages of the world.) Innate:(all humans possess an innate capacity for language, activated in infancy by minimal environmental stimuli. Chomsky) Uniquely human: (Language is what sets us apart from other species. It is what makes us human.) Learned:(Children acquire language from their natural setting.) 12.Differentiate between iconic, indexical and symbolic signs. A. iconic, which resemble the things they represent (as do, for example, photographs, diagrams, star charts, or chemical models) B. indexical, which point to or have a necessary connection with the things they represent (as do, for example, smoke to fire, a weathercock to the direction of the wind, a symptom to an illness, a smile to happiness, or a frown to anger). c. symbolic, which are only conventionally related to the thing they represent (as do, for example, a flag to a nation, a rose to love, a wedding ring to marriage). 12. Distinguish between different senses of the grammar word. The prescriptivist´s grammar (Grammar is a set of rules that label the different utterances as either right or wrong.) The descriptivist´s grammar (Grammar is a set of rules that govern the langauge spoken by people. ) The linguist´s grammar (Grammar is the subconscious knowledge of the set of rules that enables speakers to use the language) The speaker´s grammar (Grammar is the intrinsic linguistic knowledge within a native speaker) 13.Describe common fallacies about language and grammar: ►One type of grammar is simpler than another. ►Changes in grammar involve deterioration in a language ►Grammars should be logical and analogical (that is, regular) ►People must be taught the grammatical rules of their language. ►Only some languages have grammar. ►Grammars differ from each other in unpredictable ways. 14.Generality: All Languages Have a Grammar 15. Equality: All Grammars Are Equal 16.Changeability: Grammars Change Over Time 17. Universality: Grammars Are Alike in Basic Ways 18.Tacitness: Grammatical Knowledge Is Subconscious 19.Linguistics is defined as the study of language systems. It is the scientific study of language. 20.Historical approach:It is the study of language change. 21.Linguistic Competence: is the unconscious knowledge speakers of a language have about the system that enables them to create and understand novel utterances. 22.Performance: is the use of it. Performance is “the actual use of language in concrete situations.” 23.I-Language (internal language): which is the intrinsic linguistic knowledge within a native speaker. 24.E-Language (external language): which is the observable language—the output from a speaker. 25.Parole ('speech') refers to the concrete instances of the use of langue, including texts which provide the ordinary research material for linguistics. 26.Langue: 27.Language: is a system of communication that is non-stereotyped and non-finite; it is unlimited in its scope. 28.Grammar: to refer to a subconscious linguistic system of a particular type. Grammar makes possible the production and comprehension of a potentially unlimited number of utterances. 29.Communication and animals: Selecting a mode of communication (speech,writing, gesture). Delivering the symbols through a medium, a physical basis for communication, light, air, or ink. Decoding of the symbols to obtain the information. 30.SIGNS: Communication relies on using something to stand for something else. Words are an obvious example of this: You do not have to have a car, a sandwich, or your cousin present in order to talk about them—the words car, sandwich, and cousin stand for them instead. This same phenomenon is found in animal communication as well. 31.The signifier: A signifier is that part of a sign that stimulates at least one sense organ of the receiver of a message.A signifier can also be a picture, a photograph, a sign language gesture, or one of the many other words for tree in different languages. 32.The signified: The signified component of the sign refers to both the real world object it represents and its conceptual content. The first of these is the real world content of the sign, its extension or referent within a system of signs such as English, avian communication, or sign language. 33.Iconic signs or icons: always bear some resemblance to their referent. A photograph is an iconic sign; so too is a stylized silhouette of a female or a male on a restroom door. 34.Some iconic tokens: a. open-mouth threat by a Japanese macaque; b. park recreation signs; c. onomatopoeic words in English. 35.An indexical sign, or index, fulfils its function by pointing out its referent, typically by being a partial or representative sample of it. Indexes are not arbitrary, since their presence has in some sense been caused by their referent. For this reason it is sometimes said that there is a causal link between an indexical sign and its referent.The track of an animal, for example, points to the existence of the animal by representing a part of it. The presence of smoke is an index of fire. 36.Symbolic signs: bear an arbitrary relationship to their referents and in this way are distinct from both icons and indexes. Human language is highly symbolic in that the vast majority of its signs bear no inherent resemblance or causal connection to their referents, as the following words show. 37.Mixed signs Signs: are not always exclusively of one type or another. Symptomatic signs, for example, may have iconic properties, as when a dog opens its mouth in a threat to bite. Symbolic signs such as traffic lights are symptomatic in that they reflect the internal state of the mechanism that causes them to change color. 38.Signals: All signs can act as signals when they trigger a specific action on the part of the receiver, as do traffic lights, words in human language such as the race starter's "Go!", or the warning calls of birds. 39.SIGN STRUCTURE: No matter what their type, signs show different kinds of structure. A basic distinction is made between graded and discrete sign structure. 40.Graded signs convey their meaning by changes in degree. A good example of a gradation in communication is voice volume. The more you want to be heard, the louder you speak along an increasing scale of loudness. There are no steps or jumps from one level to the next that can be associated with a specific change in meaning. 41.Discrete signs are distinguished from each other by categorical (stepwise) differences. There is no gradual transition from one sign to the next. The words of human language are good examples of discrete signs. 42.A VIEW OF ANIMAL COMMUNICATION ►Largely iconic ►Largely symptomatic ►Little arbitrary ►Not deliberate ►Not conscious ►Not symbolic ►Stimulus boundVoici le vocabulaire essentiel extrait des 4 leçons, organisé par thématique pour faciliter votre révision. ### 🔐 Leçon 1 : Identité Numérique & Sécurité Cette leçon porte sur la protection de votre accès et la distinction entre vie privée et vie scolaire. * **Identité Numérique Scolaire :** Votre "passeport" pour l'école. L'identifiant est au format `prenom.nom@studentfr.ch`. * **Session Locale vs Web Personnel :** La distinction importante entre l'environnement de l'école (scolaire) et votre navigation privée à la maison. * **MFA (Double Authentification) :** Le "verrou supplémentaire". Système de sécurité qui demande deux preuves d'identité (le mot de passe + une validation sur téléphone). * **Microsoft Authenticator :** L'application mobile requise pour valider votre identité via la double authentification. * **Mot de passe fort :** Un code d'accès qui respecte 4 règles (8 caractères min., 1 majuscule, 1 chiffre, 1 symbole). --- ### 💬 Leçon 2 : Teams (Communication) Le vocabulaire ici concerne la navigation dans votre "salle de classe virtuelle". * **Équipes :** Représente une classe virtuelle ou une matière (ex: "EPAI-Bureautique"). * **Canal "Général" :** Le tableau d'affichage officiel où le professeur publie les annonces importantes pour toute la classe. * **Canal (Public) :** Espace de discussion visible par toute la classe. * **Conversation (Privé) :** Messages directs visibles uniquement par les participants (comme un SMS/chat). * **Onglet "Fichiers" :** La bibliothèque de la classe où sont rangés les documents de cours (PDF, supports). --- ### 📂 Leçon 3 : Rangement Numérique Les termes techniques pour organiser efficacement vos documents sur un ordinateur. * **Arborescence :** La structure d'organisation des dossiers, visualisée comme les branches d'un arbre. * **Racine :** Le dossier principal qui contient tous les autres (le point de départ, ex: `2025_PRENOM_NOM`). * **Sous-dossiers :** Dossiers créés à l'intérieur de la racine (ex: "01_Administratif", "02_Cours"). * **Caractères interdits :** Symboles qu'il ne faut jamais utiliser pour nommer un fichier (ex: `/ \ : * ? " < > |`). * **Cycle de vie d'un fichier :** Les 3 étapes à maîtriser : Créer → Nommer → Enregistrer. --- ### ☁️ Leçon 4 : Cloud, Partage & IA Comprendre le stockage moderne et les nouveaux outils d'assistance. * **Cloud (Nuage) / OneDrive :** Espace de stockage en ligne ("clé USB invisible"). Accessible partout avec internet, contrairement au Disque Dur Local. * **Disque Dur Local (C:) :** Stockage physique sur l'ordinateur. Les données ne sont accessibles que sur cet appareil précis. * **Partage de lien :** Méthode moderne d'envoi de fichier (plus léger et sûr qu'une pièce jointe) permettant de travailler sur une version unique du document. * **IA (Intelligence Artificielle) :** Outil assistant (comme ChatGPT ou Gemini) qui répond à des instructions. * **Prompt :** L'instruction ou la question précise que l'on donne à une IA pour obtenir une réponse.