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Mondo Bungle · 08-26-2019, 02:40 AM

https://talktotransformer.com/

this is pretty cool. Give it a little passage of text and the system will continue on based off of it, somehow. So all the people that write a lot should have a gas and a half with it.

Some examples from excerpts from a story I wrote, the bold is my text and unbold is the artificial prediction. I just wish it had a higher character limit.

Quote:

Convulsions are spreading from my legs to the rest of my body, until I am flailing and twitching pile of a man, crying on the floor. After just a few seconds of unpleasant spasms, my body returns to that stiff paralysis feeling. I can move my eyes, even shut my eyelids, but the image of the clock remains in the dead center of my field of vision. The ticking of the second hand has ceased. Without it, I am wrapped in a silence even deeper and colder than usual. There is no sound now, no ticks floating through the sterile air of my office. Why can’t I move? What is happening? Tension…

The time comes. The bell rings. I open my eyes to see that the second hand has moved so quickly that no one can know that I am not awake. I move my eyes quickly. Everything around me is pitch black, but I can see what looks like a glowing white disk with a white hand extending from it. My hand remains in its socket, but the disk, now floating in the air, looks as though it has no skin. I take the disk and look

Quote:

I have looked through the window before, and became so stricken with grief that I began to tremble and tear. I quickly took my eyes off the window and nervously leapt out of my chair. I dashed to the door and left the office, and fearfully paced down the dim hallway to the restroom to splash some water on my face. I’d felt my temperature rise rapidly. I began to sweat and itch. My heart pounding visibly through the plain white, collared shirt I have to wear. I have looked through the window before, and had been overwhelmed by just how empty this place is that surrounds me. The figure was watching me, but I’m not sure that it is here for me at all. I’m just in the way. I dried my face with a paper towel, though that little effort proved meaningless, as the tired and lonely man in the mirror in front of me began to weep.

I could feel the pain in his shoulders, in the sweat on his forehead, in the fact that he had run out of time before the door even opened. But his tears weren't at me. His were at someone that was standing in the doorway behind me.

Quote:

I will continue to live for the time being, I am not ill. I will continue to work in this office. I will continue to erode my conscience with this mind numbing project. I will continue to be alone. The days are so I long that I can’t even recall ever interacting with another human being. The office doesn’t exist on any map or atlas. There are no towns or services near. No one comes into the office. There’s nothing for me to be present for. It’s been so long that I’ve even forgotten what it is that I do. I’ve forgotten if I’d ever known a life aside from this. Perhaps worst of all, I’ve forgotten if I was ever a man aside from this.

***

The day is approaching, the years are rushing by, like a giant shadow at the side of the road. The day is approaching when you know you will never forget. The days are so long that you’ll need to remember every moment you spend at the office. The days are the only time that life can truly be lived.

Quote:

I looked to the door. The door that I know I had locked, the door I deliberately make sure to lock first thing after shutting it. The door that horrified my sleeping conscience by staying in a position between open and closed, ready to swing open on a whim. The door that was now unlocked. That could only be done from the inside as the handle on the other side was built without a keyhole. Every day I lock it, and test it, and make sure that there is not a single chance that it could be unlocked from the outside. I had done it earlier. I kept my eyes on the lock the entire way to my desk. I sat down to begin my project knowing one hundred percent that the door was locked. One. Hundred. Percent. This is what made the most sense to me. It was the same door that I had opened on two occasions. There was only one key and one pin on the door, both of which had been left lying in a spot on the desk that I could not find that morning. The key was to the only lock that would not have been compromised by a mere human