How easy is it to differentiate AI work from real work? With this series we want to try and tackle that question when it comes to telling stories. This series will feature scenarios created by different people with the same prompt. The catch is one of them will be AI generated using the same prompt and the same rules.
The rules
- All stories must be based on the same prompt
- Try to keep the world count between 500 -1000 words
- All stories must be written by different authors
Anthology series 2
For this second anthology, the prompt chosen was an interesting scenario featuring ‘Roommates having an argument over dirty kitchen, stolen food and usual roommate banter. (it’s the neighbors fault.)’ This is what we asked chat GPT to generate the story:
‘Write a scenario between 500-1000 words using the following prompt: Roommates having an argument over dirty kitchen, stolen food and usual roommate banter. (it’s the neighbors fault.) For this scenario you may use dialogue if you wish.’
Without any further setbacks, here are the stories. Can you guess which one is AI and which one isn’t?
Kitchen Cold War
The kitchen looked like a war zone. Dirty plates stacked precariously, a film of something unidentifiable congealing on the stovetop, and the unmistakable smell of abandoned takeout hung in the air. Jess stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised high enough to qualify as flight-ready.
“Okay, this has officially entered health hazard territory. Someone’s gonna catch a disease just by looking at that sink,” complained Jess.
Tariq, slouched on the couch with a half-empty bowl of cereal, didn’t look up.
“Not it.”
Lena, emerging from her room with a coffee mug that had more lipstick stains than coffee, surveyed the scene.
“Okay, yeah, gross. But let’s not pretend we all haven’t contributed to this hellscape.”
“I did the dishes three times last week,” highlighted Jess.
“And I bought dish soap. That counts for something,” added Tariq.
“No, it doesn’t. We need rules. Like, an actual chart. With names. And consequences,” Jess replied.
“Jess, last time we tried a chore chart you gave up because you said it made the fridge ‘look judgy.’” Lena countered.
“It was judgy. It had a passive-aggressive font,” said Jess.
Tariq finally got up, went to the fridge, and stared blankly inside.
“Okay, who ate my leftovers? The tikka masala. Homemade. Took me two hours.”
“Not me. I don’t even like food with… flavor.” replied Lena, sipping her coffee.
“Wow, Lena. Colonialism aside, I also didn’t eat your food. I made pasta yesterday and that’s still in there.” Jess said.
Tariq slammed the fridge shut.
“This is the third time this month. First the mac and cheese, then the cheesecake… now this.”
“You sure you’re not just sleep-eating again?” Jess asked.
“No. That only happened twice. And I left notes.”
“Okay, serious theory—what if it’s not us?” Lena proposed.
“What, the food fairy sneaks in, cleans out the fridge, and leaves us in filth?” retorted Jess.
“No, seriously. You remember the party two weeks ago? The neighbors were here—Chad and Kyle. And ever since then, things have been missing.” Lena said.
Tariq narrowed his eyes.
“Chad did ask for the WiFi password. He probably saw the keypad code when we let him in.”
“Wait, are you saying the frat boys next door have been breaking into our apartment to eat our food and leave a trail of dirty dishes?” Jess asked.
“It’s a working theory,” Lena replied.
“My leftovers were in a sealed container. Labelled. You have to be a certain level of evil to ignore a Sharpie name tag,” complained Tariq.
“Okay, okay, let’s test this. Tonight, we set a trap.” stated Jess.
“Like what, booby-trap the fridge?” Lena enquired.
“No, we leave something in there. Something gross. Like a bowl of mashed sardines. Covered in hot sauce. We’ll hide a sticky note under the lid that says: ‘Gotcha.’” explained Jess.
“What if they don’t take the bait?” Tariq countered.
“Then we know we’re the problem. But if they do—we confront them,” Jess said.
“Wait, why don’t we just, I don’t know, change the lock code?” Lena said bluntly.
A moment of silence.
“Wow. We’re really dumb sometimes,” replied Tariq, scratching his head.
“No, no, this is bigger than locks. This is about justice.” Jess said.
Later that night…
The fridge light cast a dim glow on the sardine concoction, placed front and center like a sacrificial offering. The roommates huddled in Jess’s room, the only one with a direct view of the kitchen via a cracked door and a strategically placed mirror.
Hours passed. Midnight. 1 a.m.
Suddenly—the soft click of the front door. Footsteps. The fridge door opened.
“Showtime,” Jess whispered.
A rustle. The container opened. A pause. Then—
A low voice was heard in the kitchen “What the hell is this?”
“Dude, don’t eat it, it’s probably cursed.” another voice replied.
Jess, Tariq, and Lena burst into the kitchen, flipping on the light.
“Caught you red-handed, Kyle,” screamed Jess.
Two sheepish twenty-somethings stood frozen. One had the sardine trap in hand. The other held a spoon mid-air.
Tariq pointed a finger at the intruders. “That’s my tikka masala you’ve been stealing!”
“We thought you guys wouldn’t mind. You weren’t eating it…” Chad blubbered.
“Because it wasn’t yours! Also, who the hell eats other people’s cheesecake and doesn’t even clean a dish?” Lena retorted.
“We brought beer once!” whined Kyle.
“That’s not rent!” the flatmates screamed in unison.
The next day, the keypad code was changed, a sign was taped to the door:
“No food bandits beyond this point. We will call your moms.”
Dance of the end
“JANE IS AT IT AGAIN!!!”
I yelled angrily at the phone, wanting to calm down before I pounced on the unsuspecting party. Jeremy had always been my charger whenever I felt drained and the place I blow off steam. We’ve been like a bear to a honeypot since I was 12 and my mom asked a random boy at the park to help us set up our tent. It wasn’t rocket science that I’d be the first person he’d call when his twin Jane was in search of an apartment in Clarendale. Well it’d just be for 3 months tops, once she gots paid on her new job and found a place she’d be out.
Or so I thought.
“Jeremy, my patience is running thin!!”
He stayed silent and I hung up.
He always stood silent, worsening the situation, I called him to vent, to have someone that understands my situation, and usually he’s that person for me –
As long as Jane isn’t involved, once she is, he’s gone mute and I’m all alone.
Well since no one cares, I live with a pig that doesn’t have the decency to respect my space, my food or my life, I’ll just have to train the pig myself.
The next day I bought the hottest pepper and laxatives, and added them to every food and cereal. I finally gave in and did the dishes, that’s been left untouched for over a week now – well with a touch, transparent bond should do the trick.
I crawled behind the sofa with a perfect hidden view of the kitchen, popcorn in hand phone on the other and patiently waited for dear lying Jane.
It’s been unbearable these past few weeks with her, she leaves the door unlocked, she leaves the dishes dirty after stealing my food, and leaves me to do the dishes and go hungry a few times. The worst part is how she’d accuse me of doing the same. Well for the last time, let’s see her deny her way through THIS.
Munching and giggling to myself, how my respect for Jeremy had reached its limits and not minding a few crazy ideas brings me back to sanity, I hear a twist at the door. Good the target is back, I hear her footsteps slowly tapping on the carpet as she exits the corridor, getting more frightful of my inner joy ruining the whole plan and alerting the target of my ploy, I held my mouth, fistful, my eyes tightly shot…
A sudden shriek …. !! my sudden excitement was brought to a close by the puzzling sound of Jane’s clear speech.
“Got you!!” I heard Jane let out
Confused, I slowly opened my eyes, how’d she find me, I didn’t make a sound. I slowly got up from my hiding place only to see Jane not looking in my direction, following the direction of her eyes I found a more terrible sight than Jane crying in pain due to the pepper while forced to dance with nature due to the laxatives, both were true except lacking the Jane factor and…
Blue? I found that was the only thing I could mutter at the time. For Jane was standing still with full anger and disgust in her face and Mrs. Larry, our neighbor two floors down and building committee leader, teary eyed, desperate for water and literally shitting her pants, but, but blue lipped and blue hands, I figured that was Jane’s touch, so simple yet so refined, seriously the Parkers are a different breed.
Jane went on confronting her. I could barely speak after having my target turn the victim right in front of my eyes, thinking back on the fights… oh and poor Jeremy, I had one singular thought in my head at that moment: how to remove glue from freshly washed dishes.
Midnight Shenanigans
Martin whistled in an exasperated manner, as he made his way past homeless Joe and up the stairs to get to his apartment. For the 3rd time that week (It was Wednesday), he had gone to the store to buy his favourite snacks, in the hopes they would still be there tomorrow morning. He made his way through the second floor only to observe his door being swung open and little Poppy rushing out excitedly. Martin waved at the furry companion as it dashed past him. He did not really understand why he bothered to even bring keys anymore.
In the kitchen, Martin dumped his snacks on the counter, next to the dirty crumbs and discarded packaging of half eaten victims from yesterday.
“Larry if you dare to touch my fucking snacks again I will actually break your stupid game console!”
From the other side of the house, Larry shouted back in response.
“For the last fucking time Martin, I did not eat your shit!”
“I’ll believe that when we have another roommate to blame, which let me remind you… we don’t!”
“ Why the fuck do you have to shower at 2am? Loudest bather in the fucking world singing childhood lullabies in the shower!”
Larry came into the room scratching his head and holding Bubbles with his other arm, eyes closed, purring in bliss. Martin looked at him and sighed.
“I really don’t understand what the fuck you’re on about, but why do you never lock the stupid door? You know the cats are smart enough to open it and I don’t want homeless Joe eating them for dinner.”
Larry started stroking Bubbles and locked eyes with Martin.
“You know Poppy is too rambunctious to be left in the flat. Too much time in and she’ll start biting cables and knocking over mugs.”
Martin shrugged.
“And Bubbles going out makes it less likely for the fatty to pee on the couch.” Larry added.
“I’ll give you that Larry, but please, please, please don’t mess with my snacks again, or I will stuff a bag of crisps over your head.”
“Next time you try to shower at night I will drench your bed with water.”
“Sure I want to see you try”, said Larry, ending the conversation, as he grabbed a pair of bananas from the fruit bowl and headed to his room while Bubbles hissed at him from his arm.
Martin stared at the crumbs in the counter, and thought of the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. He hated the dirtiness of it all, but if he kept cleaning, Larry would just get complacent. In the meantime, Poppy had jumped onto the counter and started playing with an empty pretzel bag, swatted it around, spread crumbs on its path, then fell off into the trash and Poppy catapulted after the bag into the bin as well. Martin chuckled, and turned around to fetch the cleaning supplies.
In his room, Martin laid on his bed, holding his Kindle with one hand, the other reaching for some crisps from a bag next to him. He read until he reached the last page of his book, The Remains of the Day, written by Kazuo Ishiguro and put the device down to look at the ceiling. Suddenly, he was interrupted by the scuffling of someone walking past his room. Martin immediately jerked up,took out his phone and looked at the time: 1:53 am. He tiptoed to his locked door and set his ear to its surface to hear what was happening. The scuffling turned into the ruffling of bags being opened and then the loud chewing of snacks. Martin decided to wait there a while longer, he wanted to let Larry dig his own grave. Eventually, he heard the sound of a door being opened and closed, and then the slow beating of water running and the raspy voice of Larry singing in the shower. Now, Martin decided it was the perfect time to explore the crime scene. He turned on the kitchen light only to reveal the frustrating mess of half eaten crisps, crumbs, and bags all over the recently cleaned counter. Poppy had propped herself in the middle of the mess and was poking around a half eaten Dorito bag.
Martin slowly creeped up to the bathroom and like in his room decided to try and discern what sort of nonsense people sing when they shower at 2am in the morning. He listened to the broken voice, amused to recognise Rick Astley’s Never Gonna Give You Up, a phenomenal choice to make fun of Larry later. As he stood crouched in front of the door and listened intently, he slowly felt the soft brushing of fur as a bored Poppy tried to get him to pet her. He looked down at her, only to find chubby Bubbles seeking attention, which caused Martin to look up and found Larry, jaw dropped staring at him with Poppy running in circles around his legs.
At this moment, the singing stopped and Martin stared at Larry, changing from a look of confusion to one of fear and finally into one of determination. Larry quickly went to the fruit bowl, grabbed two bananas and tossed one over to Martin. Then they set their trap in front of the bathroom door, grabbed their weapons and waited to ambush the unknown intruder.
The door slowly creaked open and Martin waited in anticipation, Bubbles in hand. The intruder, whistling slightly, opened the bathroom door only to find himself being attacked by two furry felines. Martin gawked as homeless Joe was slashed by Bubbles and Poppy, slipped into the banana peels, hitting the floor hard, making the cats jump off, pick himself up together, and beeline out the door.
Martin turned to face the open door and then looked at Larry and they both laughed.
“I think we need to install a cat door.”
So who wrote which?
This time around, Kitchen Cold War was generated by AI, Dance of the end was written by Vania Ebipade, and finally, Midnight Shenanigans was written by Gabriel Pazmino. Could you tell the difference?
If you’re interested in our other anthologies, click here for Series 1 and here for Series 3.
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