Wild Paris – Short Story

Wild Paris

A Short Story by Chris Cliff (sort of)

The following was generated by a website I was playing around on today. The results of a computer-generated short story were too funny not to share. My effort was limited to clicking “fill randomly” and clicking “go”. The results are definitely amusing. What is scary though is in the not too distant future, machine learning will be able to analyze and write fiction that sells, by using the patterns of existing works that people like and using those.  Interestingly enough Grammarly found at lesast 9 errors in what the other bot generated.

Helen Jones was thinking about Suki Ball again. Suki was a hungry brute with short warts and charming eyebrows.

Helen walked over to the window and reflected on her backward surroundings. She had always loved wild Paris with its plastic, poor parks. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel sleepy.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the hungry figure of Suki Ball.

Helen gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a selfish, tight-fisted, beer drinker with tall warts and fragile eyebrows. Her friends saw her as a wonderful, wonky writer. Once, she had even helped a precious baby bird cross the road.

But not even a selfish person who had once helped a precious baby bird cross the road was prepared for what Suki had in store today.

The rain hammered like jumping rabbits, making Helen sneezy. Helen grabbed a weathered banana that had been strewn nearby; she massaged it with her fingers.

As Helen stepped outside and Suki came closer, she could see the creepy glint in her eye.

“I am here because I want a kiss,” Suki bellowed, in a giving tone. She slammed her fist against Helen’s chest, with the force of 6897 giraffes. “I frigging love you, Helen Jones.”

Helen looked back, even more sneezy and still fingering the weathered banana. “Suki, I just don’t need you in my life anymore,” she replied.

They looked at each other with stable feelings, like two panicky, pickled puppies bouncing at a very courageous wake, which had orchestral music playing in the background and two cowardly uncles partying to the beat.

Helen studied Suki’s short warts and charming eyebrows. Eventually, she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give you a kiss,” she explained, in pitying tones.

Suki looked angry, her body raw like a klutzy, kindhearted knife.

Helen could hear Suki’s body shatter into 4956 pieces. Then the hungry brute hurried away into the distance.

Not even a drink of beer would calm Helen’s nerves tonight.