A Conversations with AI
In this section, I’ll be publishing the prose I write during my conversations with ChatGPT. Most of the chat is research, showing how I use OpenAI’s program to generate ideas. Putting the prose sections here will allow them to be seen as a part of my portfolio without being hidden within pages of dialogue. While I could give the prose new titles, I’ve decided to keep them so that you can know exactly which research chat created them.
Dark Beauty
Carlota. The forgotten Empress of Mexico. No, the forgotten Princess of Belgium. No, just forgotten.
“I haven’t forgotten you!” a young voice cries out.
The stone cold bricks surrounding the woman shudder and recoil from the ray of sunshine.
“How can you,” the old woman responds, “we are the same person.”
“Well, not really,” the young girl shrugs.
The girl, real or a figment—Carlota couldn’t be sure, bounced on her toes like every step was a game of hopscotch. For a moment, Carlota sighed, longing to be such a carefree little girl again.
“We’ve been through to much,” her younger self expressed her unspoken thoughts with cruel voyeurism.
“I DID MY BEST!” Carlota cried. “I did my best.”
“You were a sacrifice,” young Carlota said.
“Why?” Carlota sobbed.
“I don’t know,” the girl quipped, “I’m you, remember.”
“I wanted to help. I wanted to make things better.”
When Love Comes
Elizabeth sat in the library, still in mourning black. How can I be so desensitized to my own child’s passing? she pondered to herself. Unlike most people, Elizabeth willed and prayed for tears to fall down her cheeks with the grief of her eldest son, Arthur.
The library door creaked open, causing Elizabeth’s head to shoot in its direction. Behind the oak door, the head of her second-born popped out.
She sighed in relief. “Oh, my darling!” she said, “Come, come!”
Henry sprinted toward his mother, crashing into her arms and forcing the lounger to squeak as it moved under the new weight.
“My darling boy,” Elizabeth cooed, “how are you doing, my love?”
“I’m sad,” the eleven-year-old replied, “and I worry.”
“Worry?” Elizabeth echoed, “What do you worry about?”
“Many things,” Henry replied matter-of-factly, “but namely, I worry about Arthur.”
“About Arthur?”
“Yes. I worry if God took him so early… well, I worry what that means.”
“Oh, Henry,” Elizabeth sighed, holding onto her son a bit tighter. “The Lord has plans for Arthur. The sweating sickness was a test, a result of which we can never fully understand.”
“I want to understand!” Henry declared.
“Well, of course, you do. And you will get your chance. You are the heir to the throne. You can do anything. You are, my love, Henry the Eighth.”
Unknown Sister
System status: Functional.
Biosystems: Ready.
Pod bay release: Activated.
The NASA team holds its breath. Everyone is waiting to hear the voice of 2039 Henrietta Lacks.
“Check in, Houston.”
The NASA team erupts in applause. The lead calls back to Henrietta, “Heard, Hen. Let’s take the next steps.”
“Alright, but I ain’t Neil, Houston. No marketable one-liners from me.”
“That’s fine, Hen. Just keep breathing for us, okay?”
“No problem,” she says, but there’s a twinge in her voice that everyone expects. Fear. “Opening bay door,” she informs.
Once again, NASA stills.
Nothing can be heard over the radio. 60 seconds. 90.
“Hen?”
Detective’s Daughter Disappeared
Hello, hello.
Dede, Dede.
Terri, what’s wrong?
It’s Kyron.
Terri, talk to me, what happened?
It’s Kyron. It’s Kyron.
Calm down, I don’t understand.
I need you. Please, come now.
I’m at work, Terri.
I know, but I need you. Now.
I’ll be there. Calm down.
It was an accident.
What was, Terri?
It was an accident.
What was?
Kyron.
Stark Daughter
“Mr President,
California’s population is estimated at thirty-nine million, four hundred thirty-one thousand, two hundred and sixty-three residents. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Wyoming’s population is merely five hundred eighty-seven thousand, six hundred and eighteen residents. Of those, California currently reports nearly a hundred sixty-one thousand, five hundred forty-eight people are unhoused. This is just about twenty-seven point eighty-nine percent of our national figure. Wyoming does have a homeless count, but it is one of the few states with a factor below a thousand.
My name is Victoria Strass. You work very closely with my father on military expansion and technology. I’m not here to propose more wasted money. There is a crisis at home, and it isn’t homelessness; it’s an imagination crisis.
I worked closely with general contractors and business owners in California to create the first fully renovated building, designed to accommodate the homeless community. In fact, I live in a unit on the bottom floor of said building.
I introduce myself to everyone who enters the building. I’ve hired countless professionals to help these people find jobs and manage their money, as well as therapists to handle our mentally ill.
I can’t tell you, Mr. President, how many veterans I have met just in California. This country is so focused on our overseas military that we forget our soldiers back home.
I can show you the success of a California building, but what I want to show you is the success of a town. This country houses acres of unused land. I am proposing and asking for the US government to grant areas of these lands to our homeless. I want to create new towns and cities with people who have been forgotten about and ignored.”
I Had a Dream
She shoves a balloon in my face.
Blue, huge, and able to stick to the wall?
”Go, hurry, faster!”
What the hell is going on?
I see my mom sitting in her chair.
It seems the party is for her.
”Don’t worry. You can go.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
I’m in a room that feels familiar,
but it doesn’t belong to me.
I’m not alone long.
Relatives usher in their children
for me to look after.
A bath or a pool,
I’m not sure what it is.
There’s a girl in the corner
whom I’ve never seen before.
I’m running.
Not from her.
From a man.
From two.
From a family that’s not mine.
There are aliens now?
If that’s even what they are.
They seem like they’re on my side,
But so does the family in the house.
I’m grabbing things off shelves.
I’m running,
tossing glass bottles over my shoulder.
They shatter, splinter, and find home in my ankle.
I think I’m safe.
I sit down
and begin pulling out the shards.
Blood doesn’t run.
It’s like water out of a faucet.
I see a car.
It’s not mine,
But it is.
And it’s safety.
Grass shifts beneath my feet.
There’s another man.
He’s spraying the grass.
The pesticide sprays me.
There’s no burn,
Yet, I’m caught.
I’ve been seen,
and now I’m part of some team.
We have to escape,
but we can’t make a sound.
We’re constructing a fort,
yet I see an open door.
Am I running for it?
I think I’m awake.
My alarm is going off.
Hitting stop is a chore.
A notification catches my attention.
Mom:
Found another one. Family of four.
The dream ends?
I grab my phone.
Mom:
Good morning
I feel like I’m awake.
I can leave my bedroom.
I hug my mom.
I take a shower.
I feel like I’m awake.
Weasley-Chang
I scan the document in front of me. Birthplace: San Fran. Easy. Parentage?
Chinese.
I glance up at the man standing in front of me. He smiles.
“Um,” I cough, “Do you have your parents immigration papers?”
His smile falls. “My parents are in China now.” He replies sharply.
“But you were born in America?” I ask.
“Yes.”
This conversation is not helping me. I swing my head over both shoulders, looking for a supervisor. I don’t want this to all fall on me.
No one is around. Everyone who could help me is busy with other people.
I have to make a choice.
I clear my throat and muster the most political voice I can muster. “I’m sorry, sir. Due to the recent Exclusion Act, I have no choice but to reject your request to reenter the United States.”
My voice carries to the ears of nearby guards.
“What are you talking about?” Mr Ark argues. “I am an American citizen.”
“Of Chinese descent with no record of your parents’ immigration status,” I reply. “I’m sorry, sir. I have no choice.”
I can’t understand the shouting that erupts from Mr Ark. My heart is pounding in my ears, drowning out the world. I don’t know if I made the right choice. I pull down the shutters at my cubicle. I’m running to the bathroom before I can register where my feet are going. I feel like I can’t breathe. I slam up against the door, hand gripping my chest. Then the tears are pouring down my face.
“It’s just a panic attack,” I hear someone say, “He’ll be fine.”
Dreams Reset
It all starts with a strike,
an explosion of fire.
I’m running through the streets.
I’m surrounded by buildings I don’t recognise.
My car, my car, I have to get to my car.
There’s something important inside.
With incredible strength, I catch the trunk before it falls through the Earth.
But it doesn’t matter—the dream moves on.
I’m in my parents’ arms.
Other people surround us as we all seek shelter.
A cruise liner looks to dock.
We watch helplessly as a second strike chooses them.
Like the Titanic, it feels like a movie.
Maybe that’s why my dream resets.
Refolds.
I’m in the building again.
I think.
It’s all white, but I can hear the hum of electricity.
The walls move, new doors open.
When I do find an exit, I’m forced to rely on strangers for guidance.
But, really, it’s everybody out for themselves.
I struggle to remember it all.
The feeling of my heart racing overpowers me.
I run through the streets again.
I enter a building without giving it a thought.
My parents are stuck at a large screen.
Invalid in red blares across the screen.
But I keep going.
I’m not looking for them.
I race upstairs.
I’m being chased.
I don’t know why or by whom.
There’s a hiding spot.
I can dodge them.
But I reset again.
Back to the lobby.
I see the cops now.
They are the ones chasing me.
I’m not able to outrun them this time.
I never got to the door I wanted.
I wake up,
And it’s all just a dream.
Screenshot at 3:17 PM
“State’s evidence 14B. Permission to publish.”
“Permission granted.”
“Miss Lee. You took this screenshot at 3:17 pm, is that correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Will you describe the image?”
“It is the moment after my girlfriend’s car came to a stop after a violent spin. We were on a FaceTime call as she was driving. I heard a loud crashing sound before watching the camera spin out of control. I was gripping the phone so tightly that the phone’s settings took a screenshot of the call. In the image you can see Wendy, upside down…”
“Take your time.”
“She’s upside down with blood covering the steering wheel and hands.”
“Why did you bring this screenshot to my attention?”
“Because it shows that Wendy had a green light when she was hit. This trial is all about whether or not Wendy was to blame for the accident. She’s upside down, covered in blood, but the phone dropped low enough that in the background you can see her green light. Which proves she had the right of way and died because that man was in too much of a rush.”
“Objection, speculation!”
“Overruled.”
“I have no more questions, your honor.”
“Defense, your witness.”
“Miss Lee. You said that you gripped the phone and it screenshotted the image itself?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I have an iPhone, you press the power button and the volume and it screenshots automatically.”
“Yes, but how were you holding the phone?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No. I was too busy screaming into the phone trying to get Wendy to talk to me.”
“Yes or no answers are fine.”
“No, they aren’t.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes and no doesn’t cover the expanse of my grief, Attorney. How crazy does that sound: is your girlfriend dead? Yes. That word doesn’t even begin to answer the question. She’s not just dead. She was murdered, whether you convince this jury or not that it was an accident. She’s dead, and she’s not supposed to be. Sometimes there is more to life than yes and no. Like I should’ve said, yes you can meet my family, but let me go pick you up or meet somewhere else, just please, please, don’t come to my house because you are going to die!”
Silence.
“I have no more questions for this witness, your honor.”
“Miss Lee, you may step down.”
Wolowitz 2.0
Boom, boom, boom.
Is that my heart
or my brew?
Boom, boom, boom.
Cassius?
Where are you?
Boom, boom, boom.
Rumble, rumble, rumble.
I feel like I’m tumbling.
Boom, boom, boom.
“Someone call out!”
“I’m here, I’m here, I’m over here!”
Boom, boom, boom.
I’m in the doctor’s care.
But where has my love gone?
Boom, boom, boom.
Is that my heart
or yours?
Boom, boom.
There should be one more.
Please, oh please, don’t leave me this soon.
Boom. Boom.
It’s too slow.
Do I need to slow down to catch up to you?
Boom.
No. No.
This can’t be the finale.
Boom.
We just got started.
What about our family?
Bambino
“I should so like a visit from my Papa.”
But he’d never come to see the drama.
A daughter looking for splendor,
Lost in the hurricane of adult affairs.
“I have sent you my child because I love her too well to keep her…”
A mother afraid of jeers
Unable to see the future clear.
Soon, she’ll mourn her daughter, dear.
“She is very pretty—remarkably intelligent… blue eyes—fair curly hair—and a devil of a spirit.”
Yet, you don’t know what she sees at the end of her blanket.
Bambino, she calls him, but too young, too innocent
To understand what he represents.
“And is always talking of the Bambino.”
Little does the father know,
The war that rages inside the minnow,
Quiet combat over her soul.
“I assure you that she has been very ill, of a dangerous illness.”
One can never understand the thinness
Of a child in the throes of sickness.
None could see the spirit in resistance.
“The sinless child of sin…”
Sits in Heaven
At the age of five
Driving the devil out, not in.