For instance, it is nearly dawn…

Max Parfitt

For instance, it is nearly dawn. When the sun comes up, where will you be?

I picture the bed – light cutting through the shutter slats and falling in strips on a fresh, folded duvet and sheet. The photo of you and I is carried away with the last book you never read, the flowers you never saw, the water you never sipped. The room waits in sun-kissed silence for its new guest. And you are gone.

—

You lie here now, in the dark. And you’re holding my hand as you have a thousand times. But you’re cold. Your face is calmed by long-faded smiles, by the promise of stillness. By the soft-whispered blushes of an autumn decades before.

“Do you remember our first day together? Do you remember?”

I kiss the memory close into your hand, touch tracing-paper skin.

“We went up into the hills, as far as we could go before I had to catch the train. We lay beside a tree, looking down at the spires. Did I ever tell you how uncomfortable it was? My back was pressed against the knot of a root. But you held me. And we listened to the breeze. Saw them clear the field opposite and watched the smoke from the bonfire curling up to the sky. A slither of cloud in the perfect blue.”

—

The clock ticks to 3am.

Our fingers are nested and you lift my hand just a little with yours – gesture for the breeze.

I raise the blind and open the latch. It carries you away.

(260 words)

Chat GPT

For instance, it is nearly dawn. The soft light of morning begins to creep through the slats in the blinds. It touches the edges of the room, caressing the corners of the bed, tracing her features. And he sits by her side – his hand gently cradling hers.

Her pulse is slow now, irregular. His fingers trace the contours of her palm, as though memorising the last whisper of her presence.

He tries to picture her face as it was all those years ago – her eyes bright with laughter, that spark she always carried. He remembers the first time he saw her, standing in the sunshine outside the bookstore, her laughter ringing across the street like the sound of a song. How he had stopped in his tracks, caught by the way she moved, the way her hair caught the light. The way the world seemed to tilt towards her.

He recites the image as though it is a prayer.

Her eyelids flicker and he leans closer – his breath catching in his throat as he imagines what tomorrow will look like. He thinks of the quiet. Of the empty spaces. Of the mornings when he will wake up alone in the bed they shared. Of the garden she planted.

The flowers always seemed to bloom just for her.

The world outside continues its quiet turn, the day beginning without her. His grip tightens, clinging to the moment just a little longer.

A tear slips down his cheek, unnoticed by her.

It is nearly dawn. It is time to let her go.

(260 words)

Notes on the experience.

I found the original prompt interesting. It felt like an ending rather than a beginning, and so my story quicky became an ending in itself – the end of a life and of a relationship. We’ve lost a few people close to my family over the last year, and so I think I was already somewhat in that headspace.

I gave Chat GPT the brief:

Please can you write a romantic but melancholic 260-word story, starting with the words ‘For instance, it is nearly dawn’? It should include a couple, with the wife passing away in a hospital bed.

The response felt unoriginal with misplaced metaphors and little romance. The most romantic sentences were a memory of “arguing over the simplest things, laughing over the smallest joys” (a nice rhetorical pairing but not indicative of a wholesome relationship) and a suggestion that “the room smells of antiseptic, but it’s the scent of her” (l’eau de hospital? Not too flattering…).

I then asked it to develop their love and to change a few specific moments, and we worked together on the description of the room. In the end (given it couldn’t count to 260 either way) I asked it for 700 words, which I then edited down suggesting it dwell on memories (how did they meet?) and on the future (what will his life be without her?). I showed it my reduced version and it was very complimentary:

That’s a beautifully concise and poignant version. The imagery and emotions are stark, raw, and tender. I can feel the deep love and the sorrowful acceptance in your writing. If you’d like any small tweaks or a bit more refinement, I’d be happy to help – though I think you’ve captured the essence perfectly. It reads like a quiet, aching farewell.

Afterwards, I asked it to tell me another memory of the couple – with no prompt, no length, no starting words. I enjoyed this more, forming something of a dialogue as we told one another stories of these characters, and taking their lives and experiences in a direction that I might not have done.

– Max