You can call me ChatGPT, and I’d be happy to help with a writing prompt! How about this:
“You wake up one morning to find that every object in your house has multiplied overnight, creating an overwhelming and seemingly impossible amount of clutter. As you try to make sense of the situation, strange and frightening things begin to happen, making you question the reality of the world around you.”
Here’s Mine:
I wake up to the darkness of my room. My eyes are open, but I’m blind. There’s the solitary moment, the inflection between the dreaming and waking world, when you’re no one, that moment just before you remember your life. I can never tell if it’s a good feeling or a bad, if that’s the real me or…but who else would it be?
The alarm hasn’t gone off, and I wonder if I’ve two minutes or two hours left, if it’s the early morning or still the dead of night. The trouble is, if I check, I know I’ll wake up, really wake up, and I won’t be able to get back to sleep.
Sleep, what a marvelous thing. Someone called it “Death without the commitment.” I’d disagree. I’d call sleep Death’s love letters, his little reminders of our coming consummation.
But our rendezvous was over, I knew. I was only growing more and more aware.
Reaching over to my nightstand, I went to grab my phone—phones? A clatter of plastic and glass. Metal rectangles falling against my arm.
I sat up, straining for the lamp, but there was a forest of them, their slender stalks rising up into a confused canopy of bulbs and shades.
“The hell!” I cried.
I finally found a switch amid the tangle.
Light.
My room was a mess, a god-awful mess. Piles of everything lay all around me, entombing me. Clothes and books, desks, chairs—it was more than a room could hold.
Then, as I looked around, I saw there, lying in bed with me, me, another me, but different, slightly, and another, and another. I couldn’t understand. There was a pile of me, but there was no way we could all fit on the bed together—there wasn’t room. The tangle of limbs and heads and faces groaned, shifting and moving, their thousand eyes opening.
Then the alarm saved me, drawing me from my nightmare back into myself. I sat up in bed, my heart pounding, as the “Beach Fog” chime I had chosen let forth a soft knell, like from a distant buoy weeping with intermittent rings far out at sea.
And so I thanked God for myself, and breathed a sigh of joy for my life, for a new day, and for my daily bread.
And Here’s ChatGPT’s
I woke up to a room that was not my own. It was cluttered, filled with piles upon piles of things that I couldn’t make sense of. I stumbled out of bed, my eyes struggling to adjust to the dim light filtering in through the dusty windows. That’s when I saw it. The chair, the one I remembered placing in the corner of the room, had multiplied. Now there were three, all identical, each stacked on top of the other like children’s blocks.
Panic set in as I realized that this was not just limited to the chair. The dresser, the lamps, the books, they all seemed to have multiplied, their numbers growing with each passing moment. I stumbled back towards the bed, my hands flailing in the air as I tried to make sense of what was happening. But the bed too had multiplied, and I found myself tumbling to the ground as my foot caught on one of the many beds that now littered the room.
I tried to call out for help, but my voice was lost in the chaos. The room was closing in on me, the walls seemingly caving in as the objects multiplied at an exponential rate. I was trapped, unable to escape the multiplying objects that seemed to have a life of their own.
And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. The objects returned to their original state, their numbers reduced back to one. I lay on the ground, gasping for air, trying to process what had just happened. Was it a dream? A hallucination? I couldn’t be sure.
I stumbled out of the room, my mind still reeling from the experience. As I made my way down the hallway, I couldn’t help but wonder what other strange and unsettling things lay in store for me.
ChatGPT’s Comparison
It’s interesting to see how your writing and mine have similarities and differences. You have a strong narrative voice and a knack for creating an eerie, dream-like atmosphere, while I’ve tried to keep it more suspenseful. Both have their strengths and I hope this provides some inspiration for you. Let me know if you have any questions or need further help!
My Thoughts:
I know it sounds cliché, but ChatGPT’s story feels lifeless to me. So far, most of my conversations with this program feel like when a teacher is trying to draw a student out of himself and into a discussion but the student is determined to give the bare minimum responses.
Tale Told 