Apartment as Written by AI

I tried AI for the first time...

Hm.

I tried AI today for the first time, and gave it a prompt to outline an article, and then to draft the article. I've never generated any writing with AI before, but I've had very definite thoughts about it, and since someone wanted me to use it for a job-related task, I decided to try it out and see what everyone was so addicted to.

First thoughts:

• It's surprisingly good at understanding complex prompts. I actually didn't expect it to pick up on a few things I put in the prompt, but it managed to touch upon every single point. I thought I might confuse it, but apparently not.
• It provides a clear and concise draft, which I also didn't expect. It reads smoothly, and there's a logic to the way the information is presented.
• I'm not really liking the final results, though, because they still feel a bit bare, and that's probably a good thing because at least it means that it could still benefit from the human touch.
• It's painfully reminiscent of every single article I come across online these days, making me wonder just how many bloggers, magazines, and websites are using AI to generate their content.
• Not only does it feel a bit bare-bones, it's also very surface-level in the content provided. I wonder if that's just the limitations of my prompt in the works, of if it's a legitimate concern with content generated by AI. Both would explain the dismal quality of some of the traffic-sucking AI-generated content out there in the web: people not knowing how to prompt the AI software well enough, and people just taking whatever it spouts out and copy-pasting it without any additional effort added.
• The single most worrying thing for me, though, is that it used 3 sources. One of them was a book on Amazon; I still don't know if the AI had access to that whole book or if it just grabbed something from the summary. Another one was legit, as far as I could tell, and the author was an expert in his field. And the last one was interesting, because the author wasn't an expert, but the article anyway was more of an opinion piece. I don't know how I feel about this selection of sources; I don't think any teacher would have passed me if I wrote a paper using only these three sources in college.

All of that being said, I understand now the addiction of it. How quickly it wrote a whole article for me, and not a bad one, either - with a little more tweaking and a little more depth and analysis here and there, the article could be very good. So you get a backbone/skeleton, generated in a matter of seconds, and I think the ideal approach is then to fix it up and add a lot more content, since it doesn't look like it really goes in much depth? I wonder if this is what the workflow looks like for someone who uses AI for their copywriting.

I'm afraid this isn't going to go away anytime soon, with capabilities like this. Which means... Well, I'm a little worried and a little unsure what this means. Already I'm seeing job posts for jobs that never included the term AI before, now placing it as a requirement. I think we're definitely entering a time where it won't be about whether or not you like or support it; it'll be something imposed upon you by your employers, so that you can churn out more, and be more productive, and positively impact their bottom line.

So, those were my thoughts after using AI to generate a whole article.

...And then I asked it to write a story.

Specifically, I asked it to write Apartment as a short story.

Here's the prompt I provided:

Write a story about three people living in an apartment building that is otherwise empty. Ellen is an accountant who keeps to herself. Jack is a painter who has a dark past. Kirsten has just moved in, and she feels anxious around Jack. One day, they're each going about their daily routines when five strangers enter the apartment building, looking for one of them. It is revealed that they are cult members, and the person they are looking for ran away from the cult, who is Kirsten. The strangers split up, and each of the three people living in the apartment struggle to stay alive when they are attacked. Kirsten is the only one who escapes the carnage alive. The story should be no more than 5,000 words long. It should be written in a suspenseful, ominous tone, and should not have any gratuitous violence. Instead of describing the violence or gore, magical realism elements should be used to imply that the Ellen, Jack, and the cult members have died.

To be fair, I didn't give it very much to work with, and left a lot of it ambiguous and vague. I could say this was 100% motivated by my desire to know just how well the AI would work on its own - does it have creativity? - but the truth was, I was tired and I didn't feel like creating a detailed synopsis of everything that happened in Apartment. I also gave it a hard limit of 5,000 words, but ended up with one story that was about 600 words, and another story that was about 1000 words. That's right - I had it generate it twice.

Anyway. Here it is: "Gemini's First Apartment", the 600-word short story, as written by - you guessed it - Gemini. Scroll down and you'll find "Gemini's Second Apartment", the 1,000-word short story that resulted from a tiny difference in the plot (instead of "no more than 5000 words" I asked for "about 5000 words").

Gemini's First Apartment

The silence in the old apartment building was a constant, a heavy blanket that muffled the city sounds. Ellen, the accountant, preferred it that way. Her days were a monotonous rhythm of spreadsheets and solitude, punctuated by the occasional clatter of pots and pans from the apartment below.

Jack, the painter, was a different breed of silence. His was a brooding, watchful kind, punctuated by the rhythmic scratching of his brush against canvas. His past, a dark and whispered secret, cast long shadows that seemed to cling to the walls of the building.

Then came Kirsten. Her arrival shattered the fragile peace. Her laughter, though light and infrequent, echoed through the stairwell, a jarring intrusion into the quietude. Jack, drawn to her like a moth to a flickering flame, would watch her from his window, his eyes narrowed, a predatory glint in their depths. Kirsten, sensing his gaze, felt a prickle of unease, a sense of being watched, judged.

One ordinary Tuesday, the silence was broken in a way no one expected. Five figures, their faces obscured by wide-brimmed hats, materialized in the entryway. They moved with an eerie synchronicity, their footsteps silent as they fanned out through the building.

Ellen, startled by the sudden intrusion, retreated further into her apartment, barricading herself behind a mountain of tax documents. Jack, however, was intrigued. He watched them from his window, his curiosity piqued. Kirsten, feeling a cold dread creeping into her bones, tried to lock her door, but the lock jammed.

The first sign of trouble came from Ellen's apartment. A strange, unnatural silence descended, followed by a soft, unsettling hum. The air grew thick, heavy with a metallic scent. Then, the hum vanished, replaced by an eerie stillness, as if time itself had been suspended.

Jack, watching from his window, saw one of the intruders enter Ellen's apartment. The man moved with an unnatural grace, his limbs contorting in ways that defied human anatomy. Then, he simply vanished, absorbed into the very fabric of the wall, leaving behind only a faint metallic stain that shimmered faintly in the afternoon light.

Panic seized Kirsten. She barricaded herself in her bedroom, her breath catching in her throat. Then, she heard it - a soft, rhythmic tapping, as if someone were trying to communicate through the walls. The tapping grew louder, more insistent, until it seemed to pulse through her very bones.

Suddenly, the tapping stopped. A chilling silence descended, broken only by the frantic beating of Kirsten's heart. Then, a single, iridescent butterfly fluttered into her room, its wings shimmering with an unnatural luminescence. The butterfly circled her head three times, its wings casting eerie shadows on the wall. Then, it vanished, leaving behind a trail of shimmering dust that settled on the floor, leaving behind a faint metallic scent.

Kirsten, her mind reeling, fled the apartment, leaving behind a trail of shimmering dust that clung to her clothes. She ran, her heart pounding, until she reached the bustling street below, the cacophony of city sounds washing over her, a welcome relief from the suffocating silence of the building.

Looking back, she saw the building shimmering, its windows reflecting the dying light of the day. Then, the shimmering intensified, the entire building dissolving into a cascade of iridescent dust, vanishing into thin air, leaving behind only an empty space where it once stood.

Kirsten, shaken to the core, continued to walk, the memory of the shimmering dust, the metallic scent, and the chilling silence forever etched into her mind. She had escaped the cult, but the experience had left her forever changed, forever haunted by the echoes of the silence and the ghosts of the building that had vanished into dust.

Gemini's Second Apartment

The air in Ellen’s apartment hung heavy with the scent of old paper and loneliness. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight piercing the gloom, illuminating the stacks of ledgers piled haphazardly on her desk. Another day, another mountain of numbers to conquer. Ellen sighed, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence of the building.

Below, the courtyard was a desolate expanse of cracked concrete, a forgotten oasis in the heart of the city. The other apartments, once brimming with life, now stood vacant, their windows like empty sockets staring out at the indifferent sky. Ellen had been the first to move in, drawn by the building’s eerie beauty and the promise of solitude. Solitude, however, had a way of seeping into the soul, chilling it to the bone.

A sudden clatter from the floor below broke the silence, sending a jolt through Ellen. Footsteps echoed through the stairwell, heavy and deliberate. Who could that be? The building was supposed to be empty.

Ellen retreated deeper into the shadows, her heart pounding against her ribs. She peered through the peephole, her breath catching in her throat. Five figures stood huddled in the entrance hall, their faces obscured by the gloom. They wore identical dark robes, their movements eerily synchronized.

A wave of dread washed over Ellen. This wasn’t normal. This was wrong.

She retreated further into her apartment, her mind racing. Should she call the police? But what would she say? “There are five strangers in my building, and they’re wearing robes?” They’d probably think she was crazy.

Panic clawed at her throat. She fumbled for her phone, her fingers trembling. But before she could dial, a low growl rumbled through the floorboards, and a heavy thud echoed from the apartment below.

Ellen froze, her blood running cold.

Jack, the painter, lived on the ground floor. He was a recluse, a man shrouded in mystery. Whispers followed him like a shadow – rumors of a dark past, of a life consumed by tragedy. Ellen had seen him occasionally, a gaunt figure with eyes that held the haunted gaze of a lost soul. He kept to himself, his days filled with the rhythmic strokes of his brush, the sounds of music drifting out of his apartment late at night, melancholic and haunting.

Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream pierced the silence, followed by a deafening crash. Ellen pressed her ear against the wall, her breath catching in her throat. Silence. An eerie, suffocating silence.

Then, a chilling realization dawned on her. These strangers weren't just lost or confused. They were dangerous.

Fear, cold and clammy, gripped her. She had to escape.

But where could she go? The building was a cage, its windows barred by the weight of decades. She was trapped.

Just then, a key scraped against the lock of her apartment door. Terror seized her. She scrambled for a weapon, her eyes frantically searching for something, anything. A heavy book? A vase?

But it was too late. The door creaked open, revealing a figure shrouded in darkness. The stranger moved with an unnatural grace, their eyes gleaming in the dim light.

Ellen squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable. But instead of the expected blow, a strange sensation washed over her. The air around her seemed to thicken, the world losing its sharp edges, dissolving into an impressionistic blur of colors and shadows.

Then, silence.

When Ellen finally opened her eyes, the stranger was gone. The apartment, however, was no longer the same. The colors seemed muted, the air heavy with a strange, metallic scent.

Ellen stumbled towards the window, peering down into the courtyard. Jack's apartment door stood open, a single crimson rose blooming in the center of the doorway, its petals shimmering with an unnatural light.

A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she sank to the floor, the world tilting precariously on its axis.

Kirsten clutched her suitcase, her gaze darting nervously around the empty hallway. The building had an unsettling air, a sense of decay that clung to it like a shroud. She was moving in with her aunt, who had recently passed away, leaving her this dilapidated apartment as an inheritance.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant rumble of traffic. She unlocked the door, her hand trembling slightly.

The apartment was a time capsule, filled with her aunt's belongings: faded photographs, antique furniture, and a collection of porcelain dolls that watched her with unsettling intensity. A shiver ran down her spine.

She tried to shake off the feeling, but it lingered, a persistent unease that clung to the shadows.

Later that evening, while unpacking, she heard a low growl from the apartment below. She froze, her heart pounding. It sounded like an animal, a large, angry animal.

Then, a scream, sharp and piercing, echoed through the building.

Terror seized her. She grabbed her phone, her fingers fumbling with the lock.

But before she could dial, the door creaked open, revealing five figures standing in the doorway. They wore identical dark robes, their faces obscured by shadows.

Kirsten felt a surge of panic. These people… they looked terrifying.

They moved with an eerie synchronicity, their eyes gleaming with an unnatural light.

Kirsten backed away, her heart pounding against her ribs. She had to escape.

She turned to flee, but one of the figures stepped forward, blocking her path.

Kirsten screamed, her voice a thin, reedy sound that was swallowed by the oppressive silence of the building.

The world around her dissolved into a kaleidoscope of colors, a swirling vortex of light and shadow.

Then, silence.

The crimson rose bloomed in the center of the courtyard, its petals shimmering with an eerie, otherworldly light.

Ellen awoke with a start, disoriented. The air in her apartment was thick with the scent of roses, a cloying sweetness that filled her with a strange sense of dread.

She looked around, her gaze falling on the window. Below, in the courtyard, the crimson rose continued to bloom, its petals shimmering with an unnatural light.

A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she sank to the floor, the world tilting precariously on its axis.

Then, silence.

Only the scent of roses remained, a haunting reminder of the events that had transpired, a silent testament to the lives that had been extinguished.

Final Thoughts

Best thing from these stories? The apartment building dissolving into dust. That's cool. But everything else?

I think I'll sleep easy tonight with the knowledge that there are still places that AI cannot so easily tread.

If you want to read a much, much, much cooler story, without faint metallic scents, check out my novella Apartment.