Just for fun and to demonstrate that one has to work quite a lot to get good results from an AI. They lack imagination, these things.
My prompt:
Task: Write a story based on the following criteria. Use precise sentences and simple vocabulary. Avoid platitudes and banalities. Add additional details to those provided to make the story longer. Don't twist the ending with a positive undertone. The story ends badly. It's a sad story about a sad world.
Title: Everything Is at Your Disposal
Setting: 27th century. The Earth is ruled by a planetary government. Its ideology is called techno-collectivism. Very advanced technology supports a system that provides everything the citizens need. Private property is forbidden.
Characters:
* Raimond-R: 27 years old. Works as an AI trainer at a governmental facility. Firm believer in the regime.
* Mary-M: 25 years old. Raimond-R's girlfriend. Decided not to work. She just consumes content.
Story:
- Raimond-R gets up. A recorded message from the government welcomes him, like every morning. "Everything is at your disposal because nothing is yours." That's the government motto.
- Mary-M did not go to sleep. She spent all night consuming content.
- They talk about how lucky they are to be living in a time when everybody has everything they desire.
- Raimond-R goes to work, and Mary-M stays home consuming content.
- Come the afternoon, Raimond-R feels sick and goes to the doctor.
- The doctor gives him some tests.
- The doctor informs him that he has a very rare and incurable illness, and that he must be euthanized for his own good, the good of his girlfriend, and the good of society at large.
- Raimond-R disagrees. He wants to live. He wants to fight. "It's my life!" he yells.
- "Sorry, friend, but nothing is yours," the doctor answers.
ChatGPT o1's answer:
Everything Is at Your Disposal
Raimond-R opened his eyes to the soft glow of the ceiling display. A soothing voice filled the room. "Good morning, citizen. Everything is at your disposal because nothing is yours." The daily greeting from the planetary government was as constant as the sunrise.
He glanced beside him. Mary-M sat immersed in a holographic projection, eyes fixed on the swirling images. "Did you sleep at all?" he asked.
She shook her head, not breaking her gaze. "There's just so much new content. I didn't want to miss anything."
Raimond-R smiled faintly. "We're fortunate, aren't we? To live in a time when everything we desire is provided."
"Yes," she murmured. "Everything at our fingertips."
He dressed in his uniform and prepared to leave. "I'll see you this evening."
Mary-M gave a slight nod, already absorbed in another stream of information.
The streets buzzed with activity, yet felt oddly quiet. Citizens moved with purpose but rarely interacted. Raimond-R arrived at the governmental facility where he worked as an AI trainer. His day was spent refining algorithms that optimized resource distribution—a key component of techno-collectivism.
By afternoon, a dull ache settled in his stomach. Dismissing it at first, the pain grew sharper. Deciding not to ignore it, he visited the medical center.
The doctor conducted several scans, her expression unreadable. After a prolonged silence, she spoke. "You have a rare condition. It's incurable with our current technology."
Raimond-R felt a chill. "What does that mean?"
She folded her hands. "For your well-being, and the well-being of society, we recommend a peaceful departure."
He stared in disbelief. "You mean euthanasia? No, there must be another way. I want to live. I can fight this."
"All treatments have been deemed ineffective," she replied calmly. "It's in everyone's best interest."
"It's my life!" he exclaimed, rising from his seat. "You can't just take it away."
The doctor looked at him with measured eyes. "I'm sorry, friend, but nothing is yours."
Raimond-R felt the weight of her words pressing down. The motto that once brought comfort now filled him with dread. Security personnel entered the room, their intentions clear.
Back at the apartment, Mary-M continued consuming content, oblivious to the passing hours. The world moved forward, unnoticing and unchanging.
The End
Thoughts?
I'll go first. As a writer, I use ChatGPT to correct my grammar. It's a great tool for that. But if you want it to write something even minimally interesting, you have to give it so much info that it's faster to do it all yourself. Note that my prompt is basically as long as the resulting story.
Edit: "I'll go first" ? ? ? Am I conceited or what?
My prompt:
Task: Write a story based on the following criteria. Use precise sentences and simple vocabulary. Avoid platitudes and banalities. Add additional details to those provided to make the story longer. Don't twist the ending with a positive undertone. The story ends badly. It's a sad story about a sad world.
Title: Everything Is at Your Disposal
Setting: 27th century. The Earth is ruled by a planetary government. Its ideology is called techno-collectivism. Very advanced technology supports a system that provides everything the citizens need. Private property is forbidden.
Characters:
* Raimond-R: 27 years old. Works as an AI trainer at a governmental facility. Firm believer in the regime.
* Mary-M: 25 years old. Raimond-R's girlfriend. Decided not to work. She just consumes content.
Story:
- Raimond-R gets up. A recorded message from the government welcomes him, like every morning. "Everything is at your disposal because nothing is yours." That's the government motto.
- Mary-M did not go to sleep. She spent all night consuming content.
- They talk about how lucky they are to be living in a time when everybody has everything they desire.
- Raimond-R goes to work, and Mary-M stays home consuming content.
- Come the afternoon, Raimond-R feels sick and goes to the doctor.
- The doctor gives him some tests.
- The doctor informs him that he has a very rare and incurable illness, and that he must be euthanized for his own good, the good of his girlfriend, and the good of society at large.
- Raimond-R disagrees. He wants to live. He wants to fight. "It's my life!" he yells.
- "Sorry, friend, but nothing is yours," the doctor answers.
ChatGPT o1's answer:
Everything Is at Your Disposal
Raimond-R opened his eyes to the soft glow of the ceiling display. A soothing voice filled the room. "Good morning, citizen. Everything is at your disposal because nothing is yours." The daily greeting from the planetary government was as constant as the sunrise.
He glanced beside him. Mary-M sat immersed in a holographic projection, eyes fixed on the swirling images. "Did you sleep at all?" he asked.
She shook her head, not breaking her gaze. "There's just so much new content. I didn't want to miss anything."
Raimond-R smiled faintly. "We're fortunate, aren't we? To live in a time when everything we desire is provided."
"Yes," she murmured. "Everything at our fingertips."
He dressed in his uniform and prepared to leave. "I'll see you this evening."
Mary-M gave a slight nod, already absorbed in another stream of information.
The streets buzzed with activity, yet felt oddly quiet. Citizens moved with purpose but rarely interacted. Raimond-R arrived at the governmental facility where he worked as an AI trainer. His day was spent refining algorithms that optimized resource distribution—a key component of techno-collectivism.
By afternoon, a dull ache settled in his stomach. Dismissing it at first, the pain grew sharper. Deciding not to ignore it, he visited the medical center.
The doctor conducted several scans, her expression unreadable. After a prolonged silence, she spoke. "You have a rare condition. It's incurable with our current technology."
Raimond-R felt a chill. "What does that mean?"
She folded her hands. "For your well-being, and the well-being of society, we recommend a peaceful departure."
He stared in disbelief. "You mean euthanasia? No, there must be another way. I want to live. I can fight this."
"All treatments have been deemed ineffective," she replied calmly. "It's in everyone's best interest."
"It's my life!" he exclaimed, rising from his seat. "You can't just take it away."
The doctor looked at him with measured eyes. "I'm sorry, friend, but nothing is yours."
Raimond-R felt the weight of her words pressing down. The motto that once brought comfort now filled him with dread. Security personnel entered the room, their intentions clear.
Back at the apartment, Mary-M continued consuming content, oblivious to the passing hours. The world moved forward, unnoticing and unchanging.
The End
Thoughts?
I'll go first. As a writer, I use ChatGPT to correct my grammar. It's a great tool for that. But if you want it to write something even minimally interesting, you have to give it so much info that it's faster to do it all yourself. Note that my prompt is basically as long as the resulting story.
Edit: "I'll go first" ? ? ? Am I conceited or what?
Last edited:
I was