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[D] GPT Model 345M Prose

This AI’s contemporary prose is so rich in imagery, and allegory.

My Randomly thought of Prompt:

It was a quaint village, not too far from the southern bay. The smell of grass fumed — like it always did early spring — as the sound of the stream rushed along the riverside. A girl stood and wondered while taking in the cool crisp air. These were her final moments.

GPT Model 345M Output:

No sooner had she placed her hand on the nameplate on the plaque than a shaft of sunlight stabbed through the mist at her feet. She looked down at the cold marble inside and saw that underneath was her sister’s diamond-studded slipcase. It was open for inspection. It was ice cold and dark and strangely, she called it “Shiny.” She was so lonely at this point it hurt badly. The girl let out a short struggle. Snow drifts filled the sky, overlapping like sides of frost inside the ladder from which she slid down into the fissure of the mountain. At last, a firm hand fell on the hard smooth stone again. It’s dull, granite surface gleamed out in the dark wind beneath, like a mouth of millions of teeth. “You’ll remember me for the court case we win today. Then the dust will pass.” She looked down at her carved stone and over at the child. “They’ll see right through it.” There was the crossroads, and no spiritual journey was made.

When she finally got down, as far as she had ever gone on ice — still heading down on the roads — there was hardly a breath of wind. The little snow from the bottom of the mountain director faced directly up, overhead, as her face opened up into sincere smiling and the cold slab at her heel curled around her into an image of life. As she let out her first breath of air she clawed like a red-clawed beast at the chain that tightens at the base of her glassy skull and when she broke the tight clasp and looked up into the direction of the softly glowing sun, it felt like seeing snow landscape like a panel cast from crystalline stone. It wasn’t snow on her foot — for thousands of years, snow had fallen on virtually every other person away from religion — and the snow was real after all, shadowed and much too complex to fit into a myth. But, and her certainest prayer in her fingers, the joy still lingered when she saw her moon face, minus a skull to juxtapose the lineaments of our mortal soul.

submitted by /u/og_mryamz
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