Write a question from the passage such that it identifies a character (a person or a thing) in the passage.

Ex Input:
My best story is about Santa Claus. A mall Santa had a heart attack at work and was rushed to the Emergency Room in full cardiac arrest.
Let me explain that a person playing Santa is generally a certain age (white beard) and body type (round) that is predisposed to cardiac disease.
We did everything we could but ultimately our efforts were futile. The mall Santa rode his sleigh into the great beyond.
A mother, there to visit another patient, was insistent that her 7–8 year old son be allowed back to visit his grandmother. We had a strict 12 year old age limit visitation policy. I was called to speak with her.
"Why do you have such a stupid Draconian policy?" She insisted.
"The Emergency Room is no place for a child ma'am. Besides, the germs and infections he may be exposed to, there are things he may see or hear that a child would have a hard time processing," I explained.
"Like what?" She argued.
"Well, there are people in pain moaning," I answered. "And drunks cursing at the staff. It's a tough place."
"He's fine," she insisted. "I think I know how to parent. I don't need you to worry about what my son is able to handle."
I caved in and allowed her back. As we passed the room with the dead Santa, a tech exited and opened the curtain. Her child looked in and saw Santa's lifeless body, ET tube sticking out of his throat, boots still on but costume cut to shreds and strewn across the room.
The child lost it!
"Mom, Santa Claus is Dead!" He cried. "I'm not going to get anything for Christmas."
"Why would someone open the curtain?" The mother demanded.
"I warned you," I said. "That's why we have a 12 years and above visitation policy."
She was not happy. Come to find out the child had his picture made with that very Santa a few days prior. Very ironic.

Ex Output:
Who did everything they could to save Santa?


Ex Input:
A long time ago, when humans still lived in cities, on a cold morning near the end of a long, cruel winter, in magnificent Central Park in the middle of magnificent New York City, a young squirrel named Patch was awakened very early by the growls of his empty stomach. A squirrel's home is called a drey. Patch's drey was very comfortable. He lived high up an old oak tree, in a hollowed-out stump of a big branch that had long ago been cut off by humans. The entrance was only just big enough for Patch to squeeze in and out, but the drey itself was spacious, for a squirrel. Patch had lined his drey with dry leaves, grasses and bits of newspaper. It was warm and dry, and on that cold morning he would have liked nothing better than to stay home all day and sleep. But he was so hungry. Hunger filled him like water fills a glass. The cherry and maple trees had not yet started to bud; flowers had not yet begun to grow; the juicy grubs and bugs of spring had not yet emerged; and it had been two days since Patch had found a nut. Imagine how hungry you would feel if you went two whole days without eating, and you may have some idea how Patch felt that morning. Patch poked his head out of the drey into the cold air and shivered as he looked around. Clumps of white, crumbly ice still clung to the ground. Gusts of cold wind shook and rustled the trees' bare branches. The pale and distant sun seemed drained of heat. Patch took a moment to satisfy himself that there were no dangers nearby, no hawk circling above or unleashed dog below. Then he emerged from his drey and began to look for acorns. But what marvels, what miracles, what mysteries are hidden inside those simple words!

Ex Output:
Who was hungry?


Ex Input:
I have been married twice. My wedding experiences were both very different, even though I cried at both ceremonies.
At my first wedding, I had been doing a lot of manual labor in the day prior to the wedding. Unfortunately, I did not have any gloves, and I ended up getting a lot of blisters on my hands.
By the evening of the wedding, these blisters were very painful to touch. My bride was wearing what I thought to be an elaborate wedding dress. It was pretty, and it had a lot of buttons on it. Little, white, cloth covered buttons. These buttons were also a part of her sleeves and gloves.
During the ceremony, she was holding my hands very tightly, and it hurt. I mean, it really really hurt! I didn't want to pull my hands away, as the gesture could be misconstrued, and I might hurt her feelings. So, I stood and held hands with her, enduring the pain. Although I managed to remain silent, I couldn't keep the tears from falling down my face. The more I cried, the harder she squeezed and the more painful it was.
She always thought that I was crying due to emotion on our wedding day, and I never told her any differently — I didn't want to hurt her feelings.
Some years after that lengthy incarceration ended, I was fortunate to wed again. I had not done any manual labor before our wedding day. My hands were fine. Also, my bride did not have a lot of intricate buttons on her dress, nor did she wear gloves or even have sleeves.
We were wed on a beach, just the two of us. No one else was in attendance. We had written our own vows, in fact, our own ceremony, including our own rituals. And yes, I cried, because I was / am so in love with my bride. I still tear up every morning when I awaken and see her sleeping beside me.
Peace

Ex Output:

Who cried at the wedding


