ChatGPT Created this story from this prompt.
“Describe or narrate a scenario about a document found two generations into a future in which society as we know it has come apart. Your description should address issues related to family and elicit feelings of anger.” – Keep it under 500 words and make it related to super-human abilities and families who are trying to stay together and fight against the 7 Deadly Sins
Document #7: The Talon Creek Log – Entry Dated Year 2124
Discovered inside a weathered steel lockbox buried beneath the roots of a collapsed sycamore tree, the document was scribbled in frantic charcoal strokes on parchment stitched from synthetic bark. It was unsigned, but the tone was urgent—furious—and it carried the weight of a mother’s war cry.
“If you’re reading this, you must have survived Pride’s purge. Maybe Wrath hasn’t scorched your home yet. Maybe you still believe families can stay whole in a world like this.”
“Two generations ago, humanity shattered. Not from bombs or disease, but from inside—from indulgence. The Seven rose, not as metaphors, but as beings: sin-born entities of near-limitless power who fed off human weakness. Lust devoured cities with illusions of paradise. Gluttony offered nourishment that turned to rot. And Envy—damn Envy—used children to kill their parents for promises of stolen power.”
“My daughter, Elsie, was born with Sight—one of the Blessed. She sees the truth behind illusions. My son, Micah, can shield others from the influence of the Sins. These aren’t gifts. They’re targets. The Sins hunt the Blessed. They fear them. And they should.”
“Our village at Talon Creek tried to remain hidden, forging a new code: Family is Sanctuary. But even sanctuary cracks under temptation. When Sloth arrived, whispering ease and rest into the ears of the weary, half of us simply laid down and never rose again. I begged them to resist. I screamed at them. But they smiled. Smiled—as if it were relief, not surrender.”
“I’m writing this after Wrath took Micah. She didn’t kill him—she twisted him. My boy. The one who used to calm storms with a hug, now burns forests with his fists. Pride said it was justice. That we should be proud of his strength. That we should kneel.”
“I will not kneel.”
“There are still families who fight. Who run. Who remember. We train our children with pain in our throats and hope on our backs. We tell stories of when love was enough. Of a time before our world became a feeding ground for gods born of our worst selves.”
“If you’re reading this, and you have a child with eyes that glow or hands that heal—don’t hide them. Teach them. Arm them. We don’t need perfect heroes. We need furious families. Families who burn with purpose. Who cling to each other like roots through ash.”
“They want us to turn on each other. To believe love makes us weak. But it’s the only thing they can’t devour.”
“Find the others. We rise together. We bring the fight to them. And we take our children back.”
Historians of the Reclaiming now call this document The Mother’s Gospel. And every rebel camp begins by reading it aloud—with tears, with trembling fists, with a promise never to forget.
Looking toward the future, life will be vastly different—but how different will it truly be?
Text technologies have already come a long way, even within just two generations. We no longer write letters on typewriters or rely solely on landline phones. Even colour television wasn’t standard just a few decades ago. Now, I can type on virtually any device, stream video several screens, and talk to someone at the drop of a hat. It’s honestly frustrating when someone doesn’t have email or a cellphone—it highlights just how drastically our norms have shifted.
The thought that I could ask an algorithm to write a story that sounds like it was actually written by a very skilled human is crazy. It generated ideas I hadn’t originally considered. But while it was conceptually interesting, I felt it fell short in emotionally mapping the Seven Deadly Sins and their societal impacts. That might be due to the word count limitation… or maybe it reflects a limit in the algorithm’s capacity for human imagination and nuance.
After taking this course, I’ve started to reimagine what “text” really means. Before, I thought “text technologies” were specifically about printed words—books, papers, typing. Now, I understand text as something much broader: something that can be sung, podcasted, memed, emoji-fied, or visualized. Our communication is layered and multimodal, and so is our literacy.
This week’s readings made me reflect even more deeply. In Speculative Everything, Dunne and Raby challenge us to use speculation not to predict the future, but to critique the present and imagine alternatives. A line that stayed with me reads:
“If we don’t think about alternatives, we’re stuck with what we’re doing now, following hi-tech industrial growth-capitalism to the bitter end: the uncontrolled exploitation and exhaustion of mineral, plant, and animal resources.”
That hit hard. Not only is AI environmentally taxing, but the story I generated—with its themes of greed, wrath, and pride—echoes the consequences of unchecked capitalism. It’s fascinating (and a little unnerving) how dystopian futures, like the one I wrote, dominate entertainment today. But they aren’t new. 1984. Brave New World. The Running Man. The Hunger Games. Maybe the difference is that now we can feel their proximity more directly—through the news, through algorithms, through social media. It makes me wonder: have things always been this dire, or are we just more aware due to these new technologies?
From Harari’s “Reboot for the AI Revolution,” this quote stood out:
“The merger of infotech and biotech is giving rise to algorithms that can successfully analyse us and communicate with us, and that may soon outperform human doctors, drivers, soldiers, and bankers in such tasks.”
That’s terrifying and amazing. What truly shook me was that the AI-generated story moved me emotionally—I actually cried reading it. It captured something raw about love and family that I didn’t expect from a machine. As a teacher, this moment has stayed with me. Why don’t more students explore these tools creatively? Why do others rely on them without reflection? AI is a double-edged sword—it empowers and dulls. I’m not against it, but I’ve realized I sometimes overuse it, especially when preparing handouts or LMS posts It’s made me question whether my reliance is convenience or complacency. A bit of “sloth,” perhaps?
There’s a place for AI in our futures, but speculative storytelling—both human- and AI-generated—reminds us we still need to reflect, to imagine, and most of all, to care about what we’re shaping. Will we end up in a world where we have to kneel? Only time will tell.