OK, I'm spoiling something I wanted to post en toto, but I just have to do it.
I've been playing around with the new version of ChatGPT and I absolutely love it for writing goofy fiction. Wife kitteh had a sleepover with one of the grandkittens, so while she slept with the grandkitten, I took 90 minutes and wrote what started out as a horror story, but turned into a comedy.
The setting is Sherman's army in January 1865 near Savannah. The Union soldiers wake up one morning to find that everything is back to the way it was in 1860. There are no Confederate soldiers and, in fact, no Confederacy at all. Everyone is friendly and welcoming except the slaves. The white southerners act like nothing ever happened. Southerners who the Yankees saw dead are alive and well, all in civilian clothes, going about their business. The towns and railways the Yankees tore up and burned down are whole, well-kept and busy.
The slaves, on the other hand, look at the Union soldiers with raw, near-silent hatred. Also, the dead Union soldiers are still dead.
The Union soldiers are undone. The line units refuse to fight because they won't massacre friendly civilians. All of them are spooked by the return of the Confederate dead. None of the Union soldiers have lost their memories.
Fully freaked out, Sherman orders a withdrawal. He sends word to the garrisons holding the territory he has conquered and orders all of them to leave their heavy gear and head north with all speed. He is convinced there is something supernatural and evil at work. Who can argue with him when the dead are all around with innocent smiles on their faces?
ChatGPT did a great job with this. At one point, as Sherman is conferring with his aides, they stop and can hear a Southern church women's choir in the distance singing hymns. Funeral hymns. As they march north, they pass a group of smiling, white, Southern children who look at them and recite Psalm 23. "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..."
And everywhere, all the time, the slaves glower at them with animal ferocity.
Working on the story actually gave me chills, which is an indication of how good the fiction has become. No, it's not Dickens and never will be, but as a throwaway bedtime story, it more than sufficed.
I was making it up as I went along and after a while saw that I had written myself into all kinds of corners, so I ended it as a farce.
Lincoln calls the Union Congress to session for an address to the Joint Congress. Before he can start, the prophet Elijah walks into the hall, talking like Jackie Mason. See below for a reference.
It turns out that God was furious over the Civil War and ordered Elijah to restore everything to peace. Elijah's team made an absolute hash of the project and the end result was incoherent chaos. The South doesn't know the war ever happened and the people of the North are losing their minds in terror as their dead sons and husbands walk through their front doors. Elijah's speech to Congress was really funny, but the best part was the project debrief in heaven.
Below is an unedited first draft generated by ChatGPT. Enjoy.
Title: The Heavenly Debrief
Location: Bureau of Terrestrial Restoration, Heaven HQ[Scene opens in a glowing, marble-paneled office somewhere between a Renaissance cathedral and a Lower East Side bagel shop. A massive scroll hangs on one wall labeled "EARTH PROJECT 1861–65: FINAL REVIEW." Three figures pace and bicker in front of it.]
Elijah is stomping in circles, flailing his arms. Ariel is hunched over a pile of celestial spreadsheets. Maury is leaning against a filing cabinet eating halvah.
Elijah: I'm telling you, this whole thing is a disaster! The Yankees think there was a war. The Confederates think there was cotton season and some fireworks! Nobody agrees on anything, the North’s still in mourning, and the South thinks it's 1859 with better roads!
Ariel: You don’t think I know that? I’ve got postmortem resettlement ledgers three cubits high! You try reincorporating half a million bluecoats into a society that thinks they went on sabbatical. They’re gonna walk into their old houses and someone’s gonna scream, “Why are you wearing that wool in July?”
Maury: [Mouth full] I said from the beginning we needed a soft reboot, but noooo, you two wanted a full metaphysical rollback. "Restore the land, restore the lives." I said just give 'em better crops and call it a day. No one listens to Maury.
Elijah: Don’t start with me, Maury! You’re the one who programmed the slaves with “agitated suspicion” instead of “grateful solemnity.” They’re looking at the Union boys like they owe ‘em rent!
Maury: That’s not on me! I was using a template from Babylonian Captivity Reentry Protocols. It had mood retention pre-sets. I tweaked the slider to ‘righteous indignation’ and the whole thing went meshuggeneh!
Ariel: Guys! Focus! The issue is structural: The Union government’s only got northern states. The South has no government at all. You go down there and it’s whitewashed courthouses, hymnals, and sweet tea. Ask them who their president is and they say, “President? Of what?”
Elijah: That’s because their memory starts at the church picnic! We wiped too far back! They're all acting like Sherman was a bad dream they got over with a slice of pie and a mint julep!
Maury: Meanwhile, in the North? They’re twitching. They’re gonna see Private Billings from the 5th Ohio stroll into a general store and collapse into a heap like someone saw Elijah riding a rocket sled through Macy’s.
Ariel: It’s gonna be biblical.
Elijah: It already is biblical! That's the problem! This was supposed to be a show of mercy, not an interactive historical hallucination! Lincoln thinks I’m running a celestial vaudeville act!
Maury: [Shrugs] At least the trains run on time.
Elijah: That’s because no one’s going anywhere! The North doesn’t know if they’re supposed to invade or apologize. The South thinks the Fourth of July parade came early. I had a lady offer me peach cobbler and tell me her nephew was off at “that Yankee College.” Lady, your nephew died at Shiloh! Twice!
Ariel: [Sighs] Okay, okay—we need a patch. Something subtle. A little cross-dimensional messaging. Maybe dreams. Prophetic monologues. A burning bush with subtitles?
Maury: Or just let ‘em figure it out! They’ll get used to it. Dead guys walkin’ around, chickens laying like it’s pre-industrial, all the trains going south no matter where you board? They’ll call it a golden age!
Elijah: Or a nervous breakdown.
Ariel: Or another war.
[The three fall silent. The scroll on the wall flutters in a nonexistent breeze. A line in bold golden script flashes: “DO NOT MENTION PLAGUES.”]
Elijah: [Muttering] I swear, next time I’m staying in the chariot. Let Raphael do the cleanup. That guy actually enjoys pestilence.
Maury: I got half a kugel in my desk. Anybody want?
[Scene fades to white.]