Yep, playing with AI again Lord have Mercy on me a sinner
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Riley Andersen was a colorful girl, brimming with dreams and brimming with whims. Having recently hit adolescence, life began to feel more like an enigma she couldn't solve. High school was tough, navigating friends and grades even tougher, and her dad's consistent absence due to his company Brang becoming increasingly successful was the cherry on top. Isolation had taken root in Riley's heart, growing silently but prominently.
One evening, frustration and confusion boiling over, Riley found herself digging through old boxes in the attic, searching for respite, or perhaps a clue as to how she'd get her life back on track. It was here she stumbled upon an old pair of headphones. Once belonging to her dad, they were sizable, heavy, and clearly outdated. But Riley saw something different - a tool for silencing her chaotic thoughts.
Gripped by a sudden impulse, she dug through her craft supplies and found a tube of industrial glue. She took the headphones and, with all the precision an agitated teenager could muster, glued them firmly to her head. Taking a deep breath, she plugged them into her mom's hand-me-down MP3 player and set it to play a continuous loop of calming white noise.
As the soft, hissing noise began to flood her consciousness, Riley immediately felt a semblance of control. The persistent static drowned out everything—the worries, the loneliness, the eerie quiet of the empty house that now felt too large. It was as though the white noise became her fortress, impermeable and her own.
Riley's mom, Joy Andersen, was a woman of patience and understanding. She had to be, raising Riley mostly on her own while her husband spent most of his time jet-setting for Brang. But even patience has its limits. When Joy walked into Riley’s room that evening to discuss dinner plans, she was met with a peculiar sight. There was her daughter, sitting cross-legged on the bed, old headphones glued to her head, unfocused and unmoving.
Alarmed, Joy rushed over and gently shook Riley's shoulder. "Riley, sweetheart, what are you doing?" she pleaded over the relentless hiss escaping from the headphones.
Riley's gaze tried to focus on her mother, but the white noise seemed to sabotage her efforts. With a sluggish movement, she reached for a piece of paper to write down her thoughts. That’s when Joy noticed the stack of Peanuts comic strips beside her bed, untouched and gathering dust. Each Charlie Brown strip had once brought joy to her daughter, but now the laughter seemed lost.
At school the next day, Riley remained unchanged. To anyone passing by her in the hallways, the girl had become an enigma. Meg, her old friend, caught sight of her and ran over, the shock evident on her face. "Riley, you've got to stop this! The white noise is too much. Why are you hurting yourself like this?"
Riley barely heard her. The white noise had become a barrier, an escape, a prison she willingly entered but didn't know how to leave. Her darkened eyes reflected a story untold, the once lively girl now a somber shadow.
Meg grabbed her hand and shook it, "Remember Charlie Brown? Snoopy? The fun we used to have? They're still there, Riley! Please come back to us!"
Words, however well-intended, couldn’t penetrate the depths of white noise. Meg's desperation went unnoticed. Riley pulled away gently, unable to break from whatever solace the constant hiss provided.
At home, Joy tried everything - from Google searches about the psychological impacts of white noise to pleading phone calls to Riley’s dad, who barely had time to grasp the situation before diving into another meeting. The company was thriving, his presence imperative, their wealth growing but devoid of warmth.
One night, after a particularly intense struggle trying to communicate with her own daughter, Joy sank into her kitchen chair, defeated. The Peanuts comic strips peeking from Riley's school bag on the counter mocked her helplessness. She picked up a strip of Charlie Brown and thought of simpler times when laughter and tears were easily understood.
Feeling desperate, she whispered to herself, "Dear Lord, have mercy on us. We are but sinners lost in this modern chaos."
And as another night descended, the house filled with a quiet so profound it could almost meet Riley's white noise halfway. Joy vowed she would not give up on her daughter. She would peel away the layers of static if it was the last thing she did, to hear Riley's true voice once more.
This story was generated by user ed with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write a story about Riley Andersen from Inside Out deciding to glue a pair of headphones on her head and force herself to listen to white noise for hours on end and her poor mother wondering why her daughter is torturing herself. It never ends while Brang (her dads company) makes lotsa money while Dad is always never home. Riley tries to reference Peanuts to no avail because the white noise is too much, even when talking to her old friend Meg, who's absolutely horrified that Riley became this strange creature who likes to hurt herself with noise.
Response: Riley Andersen was a colorful girl, brimming with dreams and brimming with whims. Having recently hit adolescence, life began to feel more like an enigma she couldn't solve. High school was tough, navigating friends and grades even tougher, and her dad's consistent absence due to his company Brang becoming increasingly successful was the cherry on top. Isolation had taken root in Riley's heart, growing silently but prominently. One evening, frustration and confusion boiling over, Riley found herself digging through old boxes in the attic, searching for respite, or perhaps a clue as to how she'd get her life back on track. It was here she stumbled upon an old pair of headphones. Once belonging to her dad, they were sizable, heavy, and clearly outdated. But Riley saw something different - a tool for silencing her chaotic thoughts. Gripped by a sudden impulse, she dug through her craft supplies and found a tube of industrial glue. She took the headphones and, with all the precision an agitated teenager could muster, glued them firmly to her head. Taking a deep breath, she plugged them into her mom's hand-me-down MP3 player and set it to play a continuous loop of calming white noise. As the soft, hissing noise began to flood her consciousness, Riley immediately felt a semblance of control. The persistent static drowned out everything—the worries, the loneliness, the eerie quiet of the empty house that now felt too large. It was as though the white noise became her fortress, impermeable and her own. Riley's mom, Joy Andersen, was a woman of patience and understanding. She had to be, raising Riley mostly on her own while her husband spent most of his time jet-setting for Brang. But even patience has its limits. When Joy walked into Riley’s room that evening to discuss dinner plans, she was met with a peculiar sight. There was her daughter, sitting cross-legged on the bed, old headphones glued to her head, unfocused and unmoving. Alarmed, Joy rushed over and gently shook Riley's shoulder. "Riley, sweetheart, what are you doing?" she pleaded over the relentless hiss escaping from the headphones. Riley's gaze tried to focus on her mother, but the white noise seemed to sabotage her efforts. With a sluggish movement, she reached for a piece of paper to write down her thoughts. That’s when Joy noticed the stack of Peanuts comic strips beside her bed, untouched and gathering dust. Each Charlie Brown strip had once brought joy to her daughter, but now the laughter seemed lost. At school the next day, Riley remained unchanged. To anyone passing by her in the hallways, the girl had become an enigma. Meg, her old friend, caught sight of her and ran over, the shock evident on her face. "Riley, you've got to stop this! The white noise is too much. Why are you hurting yourself like this?" Riley barely heard her. The white noise had become a barrier, an escape, a prison she willingly entered but didn't know how to leave. Her darkened eyes reflected a story untold, the once lively girl now a somber shadow. Meg grabbed her hand and shook it, "Remember Charlie Brown? Snoopy? The fun we used to have? They're still there, Riley! Please come back to us!" Words, however well-intended, couldn’t penetrate the depths of white noise. Meg's desperation went unnoticed. Riley pulled away gently, unable to break from whatever solace the constant hiss provided. At home, Joy tried everything - from Google searches about the psychological impacts of white noise to pleading phone calls to Riley’s dad, who barely had time to grasp the situation before diving into another meeting. The company was thriving, his presence imperative, their wealth growing but devoid of warmth. One night, after a particularly intense struggle trying to communicate with her own daughter, Joy sank into her kitchen chair, defeated. The Peanuts comic strips peeking from Riley's school bag on the counter mocked her helplessness. She picked up a strip of Charlie Brown and thought of simpler times when laughter and tears were easily understood. Feeling desperate, she whispered to herself, "Dear Lord, have mercy on us. We are but sinners lost in this modern chaos." And as another night descended, the house filled with a quiet so profound it could almost meet Riley's white noise halfway. Joy vowed she would not give up on her daughter. She would peel away the layers of static if it was the last thing she did, to hear Riley's true voice once more.
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