User f3b779af1005... - AI Fiction in the Wild

IP #136

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2 fiction conversations over 5 days (Sep 26, 2023 – Oct 2, 2023) 43% prompt uniqueness Moscow, Russia

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152370a3ffed... (255 conv., Moscow) 25b33c59d23e... (71 conv., Moscow) 2c0166f8daba... (343 conv., Moscow) 3186fcd1d6f7... (23 conv., Moscow) 41d90f3a9058... (6 conv., Moscow) 44580e65692b... (156 conv., Moscow) 4d2f2088e5a5... (53 conv., Moscow) 5c1d26e80570... (16 conv., Moscow) 68cd1231e329... (32 conv., Moscow) 7ffd82a431cb... (144 conv., Moscow) 80d33ea7c851... (5 conv., Moscow) 96d1c18c6bb8... (21 conv., Moscow) 9b7ebf049e11... (137 conv., Moscow) 9fb2aad693b3... (130 conv., Moscow) a2da078fff98... (28 conv., Moscow) b44db035ff1d... (192 conv., Moscow) b7ae3e566839... (26 conv., Moscow) c1f49ec710a9... (424 conv., Moscow) c65480c19768... (44 conv., Moscow) db3f4c72ca00... (31 conv., Moscow) f7aa19059ef5... (73 conv., Moscow) fbbe4466ea19... (24 conv., Moscow) fe5166559b27... (53 conv., Moscow)

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Sep 26, 2023

Oct 2, 2023

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2 conversations in cluster Cluster 39× “I want you to act as a writer. This novel features Kay Bray,...” over 2 minutes (Sep 30, 2023 – Sep 30, 2023), oldest first. Show: 10 15 50 100

Sep 30, 2023 at 10:35 AM MSK — 1 turn Russia, Moscow fiction View full conversation

USER: I want you to act as a writer. This novel features Kay Bray, a beautiful, elegant, assertive and confident young woman. Kay was being told she had only about a year of life left, as her body was seemingly gradually shutting down due to rather mysterious autoimmune condition. However, it has been a year, and she is still alive and may even be improving. Write long, detailed, original, interesting, imaginative and unusual scene, an introduction to the narrative, narrated by Kay from the first person perspective, describing her thoughts and feelings in vivid and artistic detail. Kay is on life support, connected to various apparatuses and tubes, in her relatively luxurious hospital room, with a breathtaking view of city skyscrapers. She can't talk, eat or even breath on her own, relying on uncomfortable invasive tubes inserted into her neck and stomach instead, strapped to a rotating bed - for a whole year. Even her waste goes into stoma bags. Kay has proven doctors wrong, yet she is tired of her miserable existence, sometimes closing her eyes and hoping she will never open them again. Her only escape is social media, as much as her weak and trembling hands allow. There, she projects a brave and indomitable image, even though she feels desperate and frustrated inside. Kay strangely enjoys being an object both of pity and inspiration, as if she was some kind of superstar or a model. In fact, she suddenly gets an idea to create a dating profile, being entirely upfront about her co...

CHATBOT: As I lay here, my body connected to a web of tubes and machines, I gaze out of the expansive glass windows of my hospital room. The towering skyscrapers of the city stand proud against the azure sky, their polished glass reflecting the sunlight in a mesmerizing dance. It feels like a world away from the confines of my sterile, yet relatively luxurious, sanctuary. A year has passed since doctors predicted my imminent demise, their words hanging heavy in the air like a constant reminder of the fragility of my existence. But I have defiantly surpassed their dwindling expectations and, dare I say, even improved. My body, once a betrayer of life, seems to be holding on, refusing to succumb to the mysterious autoimmune condition that clings to me like an unwanted companion. The proof of my miraculous survival surrounds me. Wires snake across every surface, connecting me to an array of medical apparatuses that sustain my feeble existence. My every breath is no longer my own, but a borrowed rhythm dictated by the uncomfortable nasal cannula that delivers oxygen straight into my lungs. The once graceful act of swallowing has been replaced by a harsh and invasive feeding tube that nestles uncomfortably within my stomach. Even my waste is regulated by the cold embrace of stoma bags, a constant reminder of the indignity that accompanies my survival. But despite the obstacles that confine me to this rotating prison of a bed, I find solace in the virtual realm of social media. With trembling and weak hands, I navigate the touchscreen of my tablet, seeking an escape from the physical limitations that hold me captive. It is here that I can project an image of bravery and indomitability, shining like a beacon in a sea of sympathy and inspiration. The double-edged sword of pity and admiration pierces my soul. People see me as a superstar, a model of strength and resilience, unaware of the desperation and frustration that gnaw at my insides. I find myself strangely drawn to this dichotomy, relishing in the attention that my condition brings forth. Is it loneliness that drives me to immerse myself in this virtual world? Or maybe, just maybe, it is the fleeting taste of normalcy that I savor with every click and tap. And so, with a sense of both trepidation and curiosity, I find myself toying with the idea of creating a dating profile. It is an audacious move, to lay bare the truth of my condition, to throw myself into the unpredictable waters of companionship. Would anyone wa...

Cluster 39

Sep 30, 2023 at 10:38 AM MSK — 1 turn Russia, Moscow fiction View full conversation

USER: I want you to act as a writer. This novel features Kay Bray, a beautiful, elegant, assertive and confident young woman. Kay was being told she had only about a year of life left, as her body was seemingly gradually shutting down due to rather mysterious autoimmune condition. However, it has been a year, and she is still alive and may even be slightly improving. Write long, detailed, original, interesting, imaginative and unusual scene, an introduction to the narrative, narrated by Kay from the first person perspective, describing her thoughts and feelings in vivid and artistic detail. Kay is on life support, connected to various apparatuses and tubes, in her relatively luxurious hospital room, with a breathtaking view of city skyscrapers. She can't talk, eat or even breath on her own, relying on uncomfortable invasive tubes inserted into her neck and stomach instead, strapped to a rotating bed - for a whole year. Even her waste goes into stoma bags. Kay has proven doctors wrong, yet she is tired of her miserable existence, sometimes closing her eyes and hoping she will never open them again. Her only escape is social media, as much as her weak and trembling hands allow. There, she projects a brave and indomitable image, even though she feels desperate and frustrated inside. Kay strangely enjoys being an object both of pity and inspiration, as if she was some kind of superstar or a model. In fact, she suddenly gets an idea to create a dating profile, being entirely upfront about her condition, just out of curiosity whether anyone would want to date her and what kind of person would he be.

CHATBOT: I lay there, motionless, my body tethered to an intricate web of tubes and machines. My once vibrant and energetic self now reduced to an existence where even the simplest of tasks were beyond my reach. The sterile white walls and the constant hum of the hospital machinery became the backdrop to my life. A life that doctors insisted had only a year left, but here I am, defying those hopeless predictions. My room, within the luxurious confines of the hospital, offered a breathtaking view of the city's towering skyscrapers. How ironic it is that I, a woman bound by illness and trapped in this sterile cocoon, could bear witness to a world teeming with life and perpetual motion. It served as a cruel reminder of the outside world I longed to be a part of, to walk its vibrant streets with the wind as my companion once more. But for now, I was bound to this rotating bed, my reality confined to the monotonous cycle of medications, treatments, and pain. My breath, once a natural instinct, now required the life-giving force of a machine. Tubes pierced my neck, granting me the inhales and exhales that had forsaken my weakened lungs. The discomfort was a constant reminder of my broken body, my mere existence reliant on the invasive invasion of medical equipment. The simple pleasures of eating, something I had once taken for granted, were now a distant memory. My own sustenance, a concoction of nutrients and sustenance, was fed through the pathetically vulnerable portals of my stomach. Each artificial infusion felt like a hostile takeover of my very essence, reducing me to a mere vessel dependent on these foreign invasions. Even the act of expelling waste had lost any sense of humanity. Stoma bags clung to my frail form, collecting and containing the remnants of a body no longer capable of functioning as it once had. It was a dehumanizing reality, one that weighed heavily upon my spirit, straining my already weakened resolve. Yet, amidst the despair and hopelessness that permeated my existence, there was a fleeting escape. Social media became the lifeline that connected me to a world I could no longer physically be a part of. I longed for the days when my hands were strong and steady, capable of typing and navigating with ease. Now, they trembled beneath the weight of my diminished strength, their movements barely coherent. But still, I projected a facade of bravery and indomitable spirit on my online persona. The admiration and sympathy I received became my solace, a ...

Cluster 39