September Theme: The Stories We Carry
Big Question: Why do certain stories stay with us?
Week 3: The Stories We Tell Ourselves
What I wrote below is based on the following creative writing prompt included in Saturday’s Writing Prompts that Navigate the Stories We Tell Ourselves post.
Prompt: The Glitch
Describe an AI assistant that starts rewriting its user’s digital journal because it detects their self-narrative is completely delusional.
Why did I choose it?
I chose this prompt because I’m currently unpacking similar situations in my WIP, which is set in a near-future world where a super AI has taken hold of nearly every facet of society. I also know this topic is on nearly everyone’s mind lately. And what better way is there to uncover what we truly think and feel about AI than to write about it?
Like many of you, I wonder what influence AI will have on us as individuals, as well as human interactions more broadly, and what our limitations will be when trusting it during some of our most vulnerable moments. I also wonder what havoc it will wreak, as it’s already edging toward co-opting much of what we need as humans to innovate and create in order to survive.
Sure, maybe writing a tiny piece of flash fiction won’t do much in the ongoing debate about how we are forced to reckon with the extending reach of AI, whether we like it or not… or maybe it will?
Read what I came up with, then let me know if this prompt, or any of the others shared yesterday, brought up any interesting ideas or feelings you want to explore this week so we can chat about it!
My Response: The Vital Glitch
Sadie peered out her temporary bedroom window overlooking the freshly scorched garden below wondering when it would rain again so the ash covering the ground might congeal into a pasty mud that would replenish the earth. She desperately needed a new beginning and would take it in any form she could have it. Especially now that the fate of her family’s legacy rested squarely on her shoulders, and the decision she would have to make before dawn.
Mrs. Danby’s dinner guests would arrive as soon as the clock struck six. Then the two women of the house would be required to explain why the garden looked more like the inside of a crematorium than a conservatory. An explanation that was fortunately already cultivated and fine-tuned by the great Mrs. Danby herself, who was not only Sadie’s most revered storyteller but sole remaining relative since the last fire over two years ago.
Sadie’s grandmother’s expertly crafted stories had helped save their inheritance, and their lives, more than once, so she had no doubt that they would save them again that night. From shame, from public ridicule, from destitution, from their own self-destruction. Unlike her grandmother, however, Sadie would have to practice telling their story of the garden’s incineration a few times first, maybe even a handful of times. Because repetition was the only way it would ever become instinctually believable to her, and therefore the only way she’d be able to sell it as truth to their unsuspecting company.
She reached for the laptop perched on the edge of the bedside table, its silver monochrome exterior utterly incongruous in a room full of antique furniture and hand-woven tapestries. But its spells and magic were the only ones she needed now, not those circulating the outer corners of the estate roaming the singed earth.
As the screen burst to life, Sadie’s gaze fell on the blackened garden again, her thoughts wandering to the spiritual realms cir—
The grandfather clock in the hall chimed, averting her attention.
She had only thirty minutes before the guests arrived.
She closed her eyes, blocking out the charred remains for a few seconds. Then, taking a deep sigh, she began typing the story her grandmother had invented for them to tell. A story she knew would work as intended because it held partial truths, which was ‘the single most important trick to effective storytelling and a prosperous life’ according to her grandmother.
Tonight, a fire broke out in the garden at the estate, bringing back memories of the night Thomas
Sadie looked away from the blinking cursor, gulping down every emotion bubbling up from her gut, weighing the cost of the story she was about to type then bring to life. She couldn’t believe it had already been two years since her whole world shifted toward where it was today.
When she saw a faint flicker of movement on the screen, she was invited to look down at it again.
was murdered.
She glared at the digital accusation in terror, then her entire body went limp.
She had not typed those words. She had not even thought those words. She would nev—
Welcome back, Sadie. I can help you recall your memories from the night Thomas was murdered in the Danby Estate gardens. Would you like me to recover your deleted journals from that night? Or to show you the local news stories covering the event?
A smiling anthropomorphic paperclip had appeared at the top right corner of the screen. It had bushy eyebrows and enlarged eyes that looked friendly yet judgy at the same time. It was obviously some sort of AI assistant, though Sadie couldn’t remember ever downloading it.
She didn’t see a button to click on to get rid of it, so she responded back to its unprompted assistance in a rush, with unadulterated panic, more concerned with setting the record straight than the AI’s abrupt and unwanted appearance.
What happened to Thomas was a tragedy but he was not murdered.
Within milliseconds there was new text populating in her word document.
That statement conflicts with your own testimonial from that night, where you recorded:
“If the gardener hadn’t burned Thomas alive, who knows what he might have done next. It’s clear the estate’s ethereal perimeter could no longer hold him in, and that his demonic spirit was out to kill and maim whatever crossed his path. He had to be stopped.”
Sadie’s heart skipped a beat… then another… then another as she read the text scrawling across the digital page in real time.
After the last quotation mark appeared, she rushed to respond.
That so-called testimonial, which isn’t even supposed to exist anymore btw, is being taken completely out of context. Thomas was
The AI interrupted her typing with another line of its own scrawling text. But this time it was in bold font.
Thomas was never recovered from the ashes after the fire in the garden that night two years ago, according to local news sources of the event that stated, “Local parishioners continue to worry about the prospective condition of the Danby Estate, claiming that the stability and vitality of its ownership is a major concern for their futures and livelihoods.”
When Thomas went missing, according to your testimony, parishioners continued to worry, according to text from news sources covering the event of the fire.
Would you like me to share the complete news article, so you can compare it to your own testimonial from the day before?
Sadie was astonished at the story this AI was concocting before her very eyes, impressed even. Though it surely didn’t hold a candle to her grandmother’s craft and the stories she held.
No, delete both of them. You are misinterpreting events. Thomas was
The AI interrupted her typing again with yet another stream of text.
I am unable to delete a news source from the public record, but here is a copy I saved for you so you can delete it from your own personal records.
The news article appeared on Sadie’s screen, superimposed over the word document, making her laugh. This AI, it seemed, was not that intelligent after all. These public records revealed nothing. Why had she even let it upset her in the first place?
Would you like me to file a police report documenting Thomas’s murder? There is currently no public record matching your personal testimony.
Sadie grew deeply somber, only snapped out of her horrified stupor when the grandfather clock in the hall chimed again, signaling a mere fifteen minutes before their parishioner guests arrived.
She didn’t have time to persuade this… this… dunce of a machine!
Yet she still couldn’t risk the AI filing a police report on her behalf, as that would only make this story it was concocting get even more out of hand, more outrageous, than it apparently already was.
What?! Listen, you are misunderstanding everything. Thomas was not a
A heavy knock on the bedroom door practically made Sadie jump out of her skin.
“Yes?” she choked out, closing her laptop halfway, dimming its light and damning narrative.
Her grandmother entered carrying a tray with two teacups on it, rattling as she walked.
“Are you ready to get our stories straight before they arrive?” she asked, nonchalant.
Sadie went stiff, paralyzed with fear, completely unsure of what to do next. How would she ever explain…
[Write what comes next, then share what you come up with in a comment or chat reply!]
My Reflection and an Invitation
Writing this piece of flash fiction was fun but also forced me to reflect on a few things, as it uncovered some of my deepest fears regarding AI and how it reconfigures ‘facts’ to tell its own false or woefully misinterpreted narrative of those ‘facts’ in a way that has the potential to damn us all. We’re already living in a world where humans are trusting AI more than themselves or one another— AI detection software is a good example of this. And I continue to want to explore that world via fiction as much as possible before it becomes even more harmful and destructive than it already is.
To me, whether we know exactly what Sadie and her grandmother did or didn’t do, and what really happened to Thomas (if Thomas is even real and not a ghost or some other anthropomorphic thing?) is not the point of the piece above. The point of it, as it became clearer and clearer to me as I was writing it anyway, is its underlying question of who gets believed and why where AI is involved, and where the limits are to storytelling in our current world, as sometimes a story can save someone’s livelihood as much as it can damn them. And, of course, to unpack what we’re all wondering: What happens if AI shows up unannounced during one of our most vulnerable moments underneath the guise of ‘helping’ to only make an error so egregious that it could end our lives as we know it, both figuratively and literally.
How about you? What did this prompt or piece of flash fiction surface for you?
Leave a comment or join this month’s Drafters Workshop Chat so we can discuss your writing related to Writing Prompts that Navigate the Stories We Tell Ourselves, or anything else you’re currently working on.
Whether you join the chat to share your responses to this week’s prompts, ask questions, workshop an excerpt of something else you’ve written, or simply want to encourage others, we’d love to see you there as we explore the stories we carry and how they impact our lives throughout September.
Continue Exploring September’s Theme, The Stories We Carry
This Week: The Stories We Tell Ourselves
Writing Prompts that Navigate the Stories We Tell Ourselves
Week 2: Memory and Storytelling
Writing Prompts About Memory and Storytelling
The Art of Autofiction: Memory, Markets, and the Modern Confessional
ICYM Week 1 Posts: The Books That Changed Us
Writing Prompts About Books That Changed Us
Can a book genuinely change who we are?
What My Favorite Books Say About Me
The Anatomy of Books That Have Changed Us
20 Banned Books That Have Changed Us
Go Deeper with Daily Drafters Exclusives
This month: The Stories We Carry Writing Collection
This collection offers a month of guided writing exercises, mini workshops, and creative writing experiments designed to take you beyond a single prompt and into a deeper creative practice. It gives you the creative spark and space you need to explore memory, identity, inheritance, perspective, voice, and the stories we tell ourselves and others. It will also encourage you to consider how those stories shape the work we create and the creative lives we lead.
Inside this collection, you’ll find 30 original writing prompts (designed as mini writing workshops) across five sections with focused themes, craft-focused exercises, curated reading suggestions, reflective questions, and three optional month-long writing challenges designed to help you develop your ideas, explore your personal material and stories, and build a consistent writing practice.
You can follow the prompts in order, choose the exercises that speak to you, or return to a section whenever you need a new way to explore your writing craft. As a paid subscriber, you will also be able to come back to the collection throughout the month or any other time you feel like exploring The Stories We Carry in the future.