bidding on hope

I stand up. I look in the mirror. My eyes are puffy, red, and swollen. It suits me. Sadness and self-hate suit me. Every morning starts the same way, with the heavy weight of guilt pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe.

(Tool: freepik.com Prompt: an ethnic man drinking a vial containing self-love to fulfil his emotional needs)

I stumble into the kitchen, my feet dragging on the cold tile floor. The coffee maker hums to life, the smell of fresh coffee filling the air. It's the only thing that gives me a momentary sense of normalcy. I pour myself a cup, the dark liquid swirling in the mug, reflecting my troubled face.

Today, like every day, I have an appointment with Dr. Selina. She's unconventional, to say the least, but she's the only one who understands. She says confronting my self-hate is the path to redemption, but sometimes I wonder if it's just a way to keep me coming back, to keep me dependent on her.

I leave my apartment and walk through the bustling city streets. People rush past, their faces a blur of indifference. The noise is overwhelming, a cacophony of voices and footsteps, but it keeps me grounded. Today, I'm headed to the Emotion Auction. It's a hidden part of the city, tucked away in a discreet building that looks like any other. But inside, it holds the power to change lives.

The entrance is guarded by a burly man who nods as I approach. I show him my membership card, and he waves me through. The hallway is dimly lit, the walls lined with portraits of past bidders. As I enter the main auction room, the atmosphere changes. It's charged with a mixture of desperation and anticipation.

People mill about, their faces etched with a range of emotions. Some are here to sell, others to buy. I'm here to bid on self-love, an emotion that I crave to escape the root of my guilt, a gnawing feeling that has consumed me for years. I find a seat near the front, my heart pounding in my chest. My hands are shaky, my fingers twitching with a nervous energy. The withdrawal from my usual state of self-hate has left me jittery and on edge, my body craving the relief that only self-love can bring.

The auctioneer, a tall woman with piercing eyes, steps onto the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she begins, her voice commanding the room. "Welcome to today's auction. We have a wide array of emotions on offer, from joy to sorrow, love to hate. Our first item is self-love, a powerful emotion for those seeking a deep, personal transformation."

A hush falls over the room as the bidding starts. My palms are sweaty, my throat dry. I raise my paddle, joining the fray. The bids come fast and furious, each one driving the price higher. I can feel my pulse quicken, the adrenaline surging through my veins.

"Do I hear five thousand?" the auctioneer calls out. I raise my paddle again, determined to win. My mind races with thoughts of the guilt and self-loathing that have consumed me. I need this emotion, need to feel the warmth of self-acceptance and peace.

"Six thousand," someone behind me bids. I hesitate for a moment, then raise my paddle once more. The auctioneer's gaze locks onto mine, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

"Seven thousand," she announces. "Going once, going twice..."

"Sold!" The gavel comes down with a resounding thud, and the room erupts in applause. I've won, but the victory feels uncertain. A staff member approaches me, handing over a small vial. Inside, the essence of self-love swirls gently, a warm golden hue.

I leave the auction house, the vial clutched tightly in my hand. The weight of what I've done settles over me, a mix of relief and trepidation. I find a secluded bench in a nearby park and sit down, the world around me a blur. My body feels weak, the jitters intensifying as I anticipate the moment of release.

As I sit on the bench, I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts. My finger hovers over a name I haven't called in months. My best friend from college, the one person who knew me before the guilt consumed my life. I think about calling him, reaching out for a lifeline, but the shame stops me. How could I explain what I've become?

Instead, I stare at the vial, the golden liquid inside reflecting my troubled face. I uncork it, the scent of warmth and acceptance filling the air. With a deep breath, I drink it down, the taste sweet and soothing.

Immediately, a wave of emotion washes over me. My body reacts viscerally—the tension in my muscles begins to melt away, and the shakiness in my hands subsides. A comforting warmth spreads from my chest, radiating outwards, soothing every inch of my being. My heart rate slows, the frantic beating replaced by a steady, calm rhythm.

The self-love is overwhelming, a tide of warmth and reassurance. I clutch my chest, tears streaming down my face. But amid the flood of emotions, there's a strange sense of relief. I deserve this, I tell myself. This is my path to healing.

As the sun sets, casting long shadows across the park, I sit there, lost in my thoughts. The world moves on around me, indifferent to my transformation. I'm alone with my emotions, the weight of guilt beginning to lift, replaced by a gentle warmth.

"I'm tired of this body," I whisper to the gathering darkness. "I'm tired of this life." But for the first time, there's a glimmer of hope. The guilt still lingers, its roots deep and tangled, but with self-love, I have a chance to unravel it. This is my first step towards redemption, and I know it's a path I have to walk, no matter how challenging.

Authors note:

Hi, my name shall remain a mystery until the end of time, and it's a pleasure to have you read my stuffs. I’m an artist investigating the potential of generative AI to improve writing and readability and in all my works I use a combination of my writing + Chat GPT #fortheplot.

Everything in orange is my edit and the rest is an AI variation of my original prompt.

This piece is inspired by an excerpt from Natasha's short story "I'm Tired Of This Body" which is a masterpiece in itself.

You can learn more on her X @whoisnashiii or email tasha.eamun@gmai.com or her blog https://nshituvi.wixsite.com/

And you can read her work along with other short stories by various Kenyan authors here http://qwani.co.ke/

Here is the prompt sequence I used:

I:

what are some unconventional but engaging story plots. give me a list with a brief explanation for each

II:

The emotion auction sounds brilliant. who in that society do you reckon would be interested in buying self-hate

III: okay but who is buying the self-hate? who is it that even wants that? IV: I like the idea of the guilt-ridden individual. now using the following plot you have designed write an account by the guilt-ridden individual of their activities on a given day in this world. capture their feeling and emotions well in the given context but don't make it so specific that you'd feel like you can't relate if you're not a resident of that world. I want their account to resonate so much with irl activities and individuals that I'll get people spamming me with fan mail after i release this blog post ;)

use the phrase from Natasha's short story "I'm tired of this body" to kick off the story:

"I stand up. I look in the mirror. My eyes are puffy, red and swollen. It suits me. Sadness and self-hate suit me"

V: Nice start! but you've mentioned nothing about an auction and buying emotions which was the whole point of our earlier discourse right? were basing this off the plot idea "the emotion auction" so instead of having them go to a clinic have them go to that action instead and bid for self hate. walk me through that process and what the character is feeling while they do so.

Change the story only from this point onwards: I leave my apartment and walk through the bustling city streets. People rush past, their faces a blur of indifference. The noise is overwhelming, a cacophony of voices and footsteps, but it keeps me grounded.

And keep the mention of them reaching out to their best friend then changing their mind.

As I sit on a bench, I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts. My finger hovers over a name I haven't called in months. My best friend from college, the one person who knew me before the guilt consumed my life. I think about calling him, reaching out for a lifeline, but the shame stops me. How could I explain what I've become?

VI: change it to self love that they buy and make it their way to escape the root of their guilt, which still remains a mystery

VII:

cool! could you also add some phrases in their describing their bodies reaction to the process, sort of like heroin addiction. so in the beginning, before they take it lets have a few mentions of some jitters or however else addicts bodies act when they're in withdrawal and then after they've drank it. Mention the transformation in their body as well not just their mind

ChatGPT 4 software analysis:

PROS	CONS
Always super awesome to watch it breathe its own life into my prompts	It didn't really pick up on the concept of what to change and what to keep based on my guidelines
super quick text generation speed	the speed can lag sometimes, especially during the fine-tuning process