Can’t ChatGPT Do It?

I smile wryly.

“My writing? Short form. Six words to about two hundred. Mostly. Sometimes more.”

He grins, flush with disbelief. I’m dazzled by the green eyes.

”For serious?”

I arch an eyebrow, pull a corner of my mouth up, and half-shrug. Maybe too many tattoos?

“Sometimes.”

“Doesn’t seem that hard. Can‘t ChatGPT do it?”

His once intoxicating cologne now cloys at my throat.

“Got honorable mention in a online contest. A human won,“ I respond, hoping to conceal my jealousy. “I like my stories to provoke thought and creativity. I ask about control and self-determination. I ponder a future where humanity is gone, replaced by self-aware androids.”

”In six words.” That he used the incredulous indicative instead of an innocent interrogative burns my ass raw. I notice wrinkles as he smirks.

“Yes.”

“Are you being like this because you wanna show me you write like you talk?”

“No.”

“Can you do it?”

“Can I do what?”

“Can you come up with a six word story. Now. About our date.”

I twist up my smile, summoning my meanest muse. Well, he wants proof.

“Less is more. Doubt? Disinterest? Done.”

I stand, push my chair in, and leave without looking at him.