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 3
For this third anthology, the prompt chosen was an interesting scenario featuring ‘ Someone is crouching on the ground watching 2 or more insects fighting each other. Suddenly they shrink and get thrust into the battlefield too.’ This is what we asked chat GPT to generate the story:
‘Write a scenario between 500-1000 words using the following prompt: Someone is crouching on the ground watching 2 or more insects fighting each other. Suddenly they shrink and get thrust into the battlefield too.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?
The un-mythical adventures of Rodger
The battle had just begun
Ant 1 neck to neck with Ant 2
I had been vaguely staring at Ant 1’s daily routine; he had used a wall to get to my work desk earlier seeing no way to get on, he set sail for a new path walking along the wall horizontally till he found it.
His entry to paradise, a stack of papers with one single paper closely joined to the wall through a curve at the tip.
At that point I had grown curious, what was his aim?, what was the benefit?, why didn’t he turn around like the rest.
I had hit a writing block, might as well begin penning down the adventures and trials of Rodger the ant, his tales goes as so:
The day was the same, Rodger had the same early morning routine: go out, find food, return to the queen, pretty simple. Except this day had a few hurdles for Rodger, he had just begun his daily routine, the day was awfully dry, Oscar the ant had returned hysterically pointing out the human had begun another dry spell where food would be impossible to find until he host a feast at the end of the month, they had enough in the store house but ants never took chances, so the rationing would begin as early as tomorrow, as ants, they had to prepare in the event the human skips on his monthly grocery shopping or moves out for over two weeks, all though that usually happens at the year end. Again, ants do not take any chances.
With Oscar’s warning on mis mind, Rodger decided against his usual route, he had sighted a piece of bread, or was it a cracker? or his mind playing tricks on his hungry bones. On a good day he wouldn’t want to waste his energy on a pointless trip but this was no ordinary day.
Aboard the desk he went. He had gotten to the edge of the table and found no direct path, lacking an arm extension that forms a wing, our flightless ant walked horizontally across the wall, surely a direct path should appear, his mind couldn’t play such a cruel trick on him, an impossible task for an improbable meal.Still, he marched on, an ant is never tired.
Finally, in the shape of a bow he had found the pathway to the table upon which his protection from the harsh days could be provided.
Rodger had finally gotten on the table and walked straight to satisfaction. He had been right, there was indeed a crumb, a huge one at that. Excited, he hurried over picked it up, and began his journey home. Reni and the kids would be proud of him, another star.
Just as he was about to make the climb above the wall Edgar had appeared, he had been notorious for reaping where he did not sow and Rodger wasn’t about to give him any of the harvest. They began to fight.
At a certain point Rodger had seemed to be staring the human in the face.
For a brief moment, compassion had flowed between both species, one could say there was a connection of sorts.
There had to be a connection because I no longer sat at my table typing on my laptop. I now stared at Rodger in the face and he stared back.
“Wait!”
“Where is Edgar?”
“Behind you!” screamed Rodger.
The Observer Becomes the Observed
Eli crouched low to the sunbaked dirt, his knees cracking softly. A gnarled branch scraped at his shoulder as he pushed deeper into the brush, eyes locked on the miniature chaos playing out just inches from his boots.
“Whoa…” he muttered, breath shallow with fascination.
Two beetles—one iridescent green, the other matte black with serrated horns—collided like titans in a war for dominance. They reared and slammed, mandibles clashing, tiny limbs skittering across dry leaves. It was brutal, primal, and oddly beautiful.
“Nature’s gladiators,” he whispered, grinning. His fingers hovered above his phone camera, but he hesitated to snap a photo. This felt like a moment he should feel, not capture.
Then the air shimmered.
Not like heat distortion—this was stranger, thicker. The beetles paused mid-scrap, as if sensing something too. The ground beneath Eli vibrated, subtly at first, then harder, like an invisible drumbeat rising from below.
“What the hell—”
The words caught in his throat. A jolt—sharp and sudden—stabbed his spine. He gasped. His hands hit the ground to steady himself, but they landed too fast, too hard.
The world expanded in a rush of motion and sound. Blades of grass became towering green walls. Pebbles morphed into boulders. The beetles, once no larger than coins, now loomed over him like warhorses clad in chitin armor.
Eli stumbled backward and looked at his hands. They were…smaller? No—everything else was larger.
“Holy crap. I—I shrank?” he gasped, voice high and reedy.
A screech broke his panic. The green beetle turned its glittering eyes on him. The black one clicked its mandibles and charged—not at each other, but at him.
“Oh no, no no no!”
Eli dove to the side just as the black beetle’s horn speared the air where he’d stood. Dust kicked up like a storm. He rolled, scrambled upright, and bolted toward a nearby twig—now a massive fallen tree in his eyes.
He heard the fight resume behind him. The insects, undeterred by his sudden appearance, locked once more in a brutal grapple. But something had changed. Every thud of their bodies sent tremors through the ground. Eli could feel their power now—he was no longer an observer behind glass. He was in it.
Hiding behind the twig, he dared a glance. The green beetle had the upper hand, lifting the black one into the air with surprising strength. It hurled its opponent down with a crunch that made Eli wince. The black beetle twitched, then lay still.
The victor clicked its mandibles triumphantly, then rotated its armored head toward Eli.
“Oh, come on,” Eli groaned. “I’m not even in the fight!”
The beetle charged.
Instinct kicked in. Eli grabbed a shard of bark, hefting it like a shield. He braced himself just as the beetle slammed into him. The impact launched him backward into a curled leaf. Stars danced across his vision. Pain lit up his arm, but the bark had held.
“Okay, new plan,” he muttered, staggering upright. “Don’t die.”
The beetle advanced again, slower this time, as if testing him. Its mandibles clacked. It was curious. Sizing him up.
Then, like a spark in his brain, a thought: maybe he didn’t have to win—just survive long enough.
“HEY!” he yelled, waving his arms and backing toward a raised root. “I’m not your enemy! You already won the fight!”
The beetle paused. For a surreal heartbeat, they stared at each other—man and insect, equal in scale but not in understanding.
Then, miraculously, the beetle turned away.
Eli let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Before he could even collapse in relief, the air shimmered again. The pressure returned—an inward pull, like the world inhaling. He doubled over as light warped around him.
And just as quickly as it had started, it was over.
He blinked. The world was normal again. The beetles were small, silent, one dead and one victorious, their battle already part of the dirt’s forgotten history. His knees throbbed. His head spun.
He looked around—no sign of the strange energy, no hidden device, no explanation. Just the forest, the dirt, and two insects.
Eli sat down hard.
“Well,” he muttered, brushing dust from his jeans, “I am never looking at bugs the same way again.”
Bug Betting
“Hailing all the way from South America, the eight legged beast, the venomous phantom, João!” Rang the voice of a commentator amidst the heavy cheering of the crowd.
“On the other corner, waiting for a chance to pounce, sprouts the devils blossom, a creature with a keen resemblance to the devil himself, and an attitude to match, Ajokoli!” Countered the other commentator, raising a pitchfork into the air.
The crowd went wild as both Ajokoli and João were risen into the arena on a platform, contained in small boxes facing each other. João crawled around his box, scurrying to find his quarry. Ajokoli tapped the glass with his limbs and gazed calmly at his opponent.
“Place your bets everybody!” The commentators screamed in unison. The crowd eagerly clicked on their devices and slowly bets started to flow in. The bets were being displayed in a screen above the arena, and the numbers were rapidly changing, flowing in favour of Ajokoli one moment, the next tied, and the next in favour of João.
“João comes from the lineage of conquerors, his species, once the most venomous of his kind, João is here to prove his kind deserve to be the first!” screamed the commentator. Immediately the display showed João winning.
“That’s a bold assumption Max, knowing João is facing Ajokoli, one of the biggest specimens of his kind, who never backs down from a fight, and who has lived through every fight without losing a limb!” Replied the other commentator, and the numbers soared once again in favour of Ajokoli.
“How presumptuous Angela, once João bares his fangs, no opponent will walk out alive!” retorts Max, as he pulled out a massive knife from his belt. The numbers shift to barely above Ajokoli on the display. Max’s eyes widened.
A triumphant smile on her face, Angela delivered her final line. “With its limbs blessed by the devil himself, no one can escape punishment from Ajokoli, not even João!”
Screamed Angela as she thumps her pitchfork back and forth. Angelas smile seeps away from her face and the thumping stops as she looks at the display, both sides are tied evenly.
The crowd went silent and murmured amongst themselves. From the top of the arena, a platform descended, on it a hooded individual, sitting in a simple stone throne. The hooded figure waved his gloved hand and brandished a metal scepter and raised it high, inciting the crowd to chant.
“Double rounds! Double rounds! Double rounds!”
The hooded figure raised itself from its throne and walked to the edge, then dangled to look at Max and Angela below, small specimens in his eyes.
“What the crowd wants is excitement, and it is my duty to provide for my clients!” Boomed the cloaked figure. The crowd shrieked in excitement and chanted louder. Angela and Max looked at each other, alarming expressions on their faces.
“No wait! This wasn’t how it was supposed to go!” Shrieked Max. The cloaked figure danced around the edge of this platform and shrugged in a carefree manner.
“Shit!” Angela spat, a wild look on her face. “Give me another pitchfork!” She screamed, and the cloaked figure snapped his fingers and a second one appeared at her side. She looked at Max, determination in her eyes as she readied her pitchforks. Next to her, Max was unsheathing two knives and looking at Angela, uncertainty dotting his eyes.
The cloaked figure snapped his fingers again and Max, reduced in size, appeared on the top of hairy João’s back. Angela appeared next to Ajokoli, who immediately threw one of the pitchforks to the mantis, who expertly caught it and wielded it in a defensive position.
Outside the boxes, the crowd cheered wildly as two Martians took Max and Angela’s positions.
“ Ladies and Gentleman, please raise some applause for Mad Max, a master of knives as he teams up with João to try and take down the fierce Pitchfork Titan and her partner Ajokoli!”
The crowd exploded in excitement, and the betting resumed once again. This time however there would be a winner and a duel to the death would ensue.
So who wrote which?
This time around, The un-mythical adventures of Rodger was written by Vania Ebipade, The observer becomes the observed by AI and Bug Betting was written by Gabriel Pazmino. Could you tell the difference?
Missed some of our older anthologies? Click here for Series 2 and here for Series 1.
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