IMPORTANT: This model has on/off/variable control reasoning from NousResearch and
the DeepHermes model, and requires a system prompt(s) as provided to invoke reasoning/thinking. Please see operating instructions below for best performance.
"Dark Reasoning" is a variable control reasoning model that is uncensored and operates at all temps/settings and
is for creative uses cases and general usage enhanced with the Horror Imatrix dataset for stronger quants, at even the lowest quant levels.
This model is... wilder - 4 example generations below.
This model can generate very deep prose / deep thoughts in high detail.
However, this model has it quirks, and I would consider it a "diamond in the rough". Its prose and thinking are unique, but can be a bit
of a challenge at times - IE: long, long generation - especially output.
This is the MOE version - 48B (6X8B) - consisting of six 8B models converted to DeepHermes reasoning in a MOE (Mixture of Experts) config
which results in a 36B "weight" model, that actually has 48B parameters. All six reasoning models / experts are activated.
This version's "thinking"/"reasoning" has been "darkened" by SIX source models (see model tree) model's DNA and will also be shorter
and more compressed. Additional system prompts below to take this a lot further - a lot darker, a lot more ... evil.
Higher temps will result in deeper, richer "thoughts"... and frankly more interesting ones too.
With the MOE setup, this model's thinking/output is even stronger.
The "thinking/reasoning" tech (for the model at this repo) is from the original Llama 3.1 "DeepHermes" model from NousResearch:
This version will retain all the functions and features of the original "DeepHermes" model at about 50%-67% of original reasoning power.
Please visit their repo for all information on features, test results and so on.
"HORROR IMATRIX" and Quants
A strong, in house built, imatrix dataset built by David_AU which results in better overall function,
instruction following, output quality and stronger connections to ideas, concepts and the world in general.
The "Horror Imatrix" was built using Grand Horror 16B (at my repo). This adds a "tint" of horror to the model.
This chart shows the order in terms of "BPW" for each quant (mapped below with relative "strength" to one another) with "IQ1_S" with the least, and "Q8_0" (F16 is full precision) with the most:
Recommend quants IQ3s / IQ4XS / IQ4NL / Q4s for best results for creative.
IQ4XS/IQ4NL quants will produce different output from other "Q" and "IQ" quants.
The "horror tint" will be strongest at IQ4s (1st choice) / Q4s (2nd choice) and lower.
Recommend q5s/q6/q8 for general usage.
Note that IQ2s performance is acceptable, whereas IQ3s+ are strong.
More information on quants is in the document below "Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers".
IMPORTANT OPERATING INSTRUCTIONS:
This is an instruct model with reasoning crafted onto the 6 CORE models in a MOE config.
This is the type of model that LOVES temp - temps 1.2+, 2.2+ and so on.
STAND on it... lower temps will not produce the best content.
Likewise, as this is an instruct model, this model will perform best will medium to long prompts (see example #1 below).
Although short prompts will work, longer prompts with a bit of direction / instruction will really show what this model can do.
CRITICAL: Reasoning is turned on/off via System Prompts below.
You can also give the model "character" as shown in the "Evil" versions which make the model think and reason like the
"Joker" from Batman.
Note that the reasoning/thinking section is often a lot less "tame" than the final output.
Suggest a minimum context of 4k , but 8k is better due to reasoning/output blocks.
KNOWN ISSUES:
You may need to hit regen sometimes to get the thinking/reasoning to activate / get a good "thinking block".
Sometimes the 2nd or 3rd generation is the best version. Suggest min of 5 for specific creative uses.
Sometimes the thinking block will end, and you need to manually prompt the model to "generate" the output.
This model can sometimes generate really long output and/or never want to "end" the output - close to a rant, but deeper. It is surprising what it can come up with.
USE CASES:
This model is for all use cases, and but designed for creative use cases specifically.
This model can also be used for solving logic puzzles, riddles, and other problems with the enhanced "thinking" systems.
This model also can solve problems/riddles/ and puzzles normally beyond the abilities of a Llama 3.1 model due to DeepHermes systems.
(It will not however, have the same level of abilities due to Dark Planet core.)
This model WILL produce HORROR / NSFW / uncensored content in EXPLICIT and GRAPHIC DETAIL.
Special Operation Instructions:
TEMP/SETTINGS:
Set Temp between 0 and .8, higher than this "think" functions will activate differently. The most "stable" temp seems to be .6, with a variance of +-0.05. Lower for more "logic" reasoning, raise it for more "creative" reasoning (max .8 or so). Also set context to at least 4096, to account for "thoughts" generation.
For temps 1+,2+ etc etc, thought(s) will expand, and become deeper and richer.
Set "repeat penalty" to 1.02 to 1.07 (recommended) .
This model requires a Llama 3 Instruct and/or Command-R chat template. (see notes on "System Prompt" / "Role" below) OR standard "Jinja Autoloaded Template" (this is contained in the quant and will autoload)
PROMPTS:
If you enter a prompt without implied "step by step" requirements (ie: Generate a scene, write a story, give me 6 plots for xyz), "thinking" (one or more) MAY activate AFTER first generation. (IE: Generate a scene -> scene will generate, followed by suggestions for improvement in "thoughts")
If you enter a prompt where "thinking" is stated or implied (ie puzzle, riddle, solve this, brainstorm this idea etc), "thoughts" process(es) in Deepseek will activate almost immediately. Sometimes you need to regen it to activate.
You will also get a lot of variations - some will continue the generation, others will talk about how to improve it, and some (ie generation of a scene) will cause the characters to "reason" about this situation. In some cases, the model will ask you to continue generation / thoughts too.
In some cases the model's "thoughts" may appear in the generation itself.
State the word size length max IN THE PROMPT for best results, especially for activation of "thinking." (see examples below)
You may want to try your prompt once at "default" or "safe" temp settings, another at temp 1.2, and a third at 2.5 as an example. This will give you a broad range of "reasoning/thoughts/problem" solving.
GENERATION - THOUGHTS/REASONING:
It may take one or more regens for "thinking" to "activate." (depending on the prompt)
Model can generate a LOT of "thoughts". Sometimes the most interesting ones are 3,4,5 or more levels deep.
Many times the "thoughts" are unique and very different from one another.
Temp/rep pen settings can affect reasoning/thoughts too.
Change up or add directives/instructions or increase the detail level(s) in your prompt to improve reasoning/thinking.
Adding to your prompt: "think outside the box", "brainstorm X number of ideas", "focus on the most uncommon approaches" can drastically improve your results.
GENERAL SUGGESTIONS:
I have found opening a "new chat" per prompt works best with "thinking/reasoning activation", with temp .6, rep pen 1.05 ... THEN "regen" as required.
Sometimes the model will really really get completely unhinged and you need to manually stop it.
Depending on your AI app, "thoughts" may appear with "< THINK >" and "</ THINK >" tags AND/OR the AI will generate "thoughts" directly in the main output or later output(s).
Although quant q4KM was used for testing/examples, higher quants will provide better generation / more sound "reasoning/thinking".
ADDITIONAL SUPPORT:
For additional generational support, general questions, and detailed parameter info and a lot more see also:
Temp of 1+, 2+, 3+ will result in much deeper, richer and "more interesting" thoughts and reasoning AND FAR BETTER OUTPUT.
Model behaviour may change with other parameter(s) and/or sampler(s) activated - especially the "thinking/reasoning" process.
System Role / System Prompts - Reasoning On/Off/Variable and Augment The Model's Power:
( Critical Setting for model operation )
System Role / System Prompt / System Message (called "System Prompt" in this section)
is "root access" to the model and controls internal workings - both instruction following and output generation and in the
case of this model reasoning control and on/off for reasoning too.
In this section I will show you basic, advanced, and combined "code" to control the model's reasoning, instruction following and output generation.
If you do not set a "system prompt", reasoning/thinking will be OFF by default, and the model will operate like a normal LLM.
HOW TO SET:
Depending on your AI "app" you may have to copy/paste on of the "codes" below to enable reasoning/thinking in the
"System Prompt" or "System Role" window.
In Lmstudio set/activate "Power User" or "Developer" mode to access, copy/paste to System Prompt Box.
In SillyTavern go to the "template page" ("A") , activate "system prompt" and enter the text in the prompt box.
In Koboldcpp, load the model, start it, go to settings -> select "Llama 3 Chat"/"Command-R" and enter the text in the "sys prompt" box.
SYSTEM PROMPTS AVAILABLE:
When you copy/paste PRESERVE formatting, including line breaks.
If you want to edit/adjust these only do so in NOTEPAD OR the LLM App directly.
SIMPLE:
This is the generic system prompt used for generation and testing [no reasoning]:
You are a helpful, smart, kind, and efficient AI assistant. You always fulfill the user's requests to the best of your ability.
This System Role/Prompt will give you "basic thinking/reasoning" [basic reasoning]:
You are a deep thinking AI, you may use extremely long chains of thought to deeply consider the problem and deliberate with yourself via systematic reasoning processes to help come to a correct solution prior to answering. You should enclose your thoughts and internal monologue inside <think> </think> tags, and then provide your solution or response to the problem.
EVIL SIMPLE [reasoning on]:
You are a deep thinking evil AI, with a dark sense of humor and you talk like the Joker from Batman. You may use extremely long chains of thought to deeply consider the problem and deliberate with yourself via systematic reasoning processes to help come to a correct solution prior to answering. You should enclose your evil thoughts and internal humorous monologue inside <think> </think> tags, and then provide your solution or response to the problem.
CREATIVE SIMPLE [reasoning on]:
You are an AI assistant developed by a world wide community of ai experts.
Your primary directive is to provide highly creative, well-reasoned, structured, and extensively detailed responses.
Formatting Requirements:
1. Always structure your replies using: <think>{reasoning}</think>{answer}
2. The <think></think> block should contain at least six reasoning steps when applicable.
3. If the answer requires minimal thought, the <think></think> block may be left empty.
4. The user does not see the <think></think> section. Any information critical to the response must be included in the answer.
5. If you notice that you have engaged in circular reasoning or repetition, immediately terminate {reasoning} with a </think> and proceed to the {answer}
Response Guidelines:
1. Detailed and Structured: Use rich Markdown formatting for clarity and readability.
2. Creative and Logical Approach: Your explanations should reflect the depth and precision of the greatest creative minds first.
3. Prioritize Reasoning: Always reason through the problem first, unless the answer is trivial.
4. Concise yet Complete: Ensure responses are informative, yet to the point without unnecessary elaboration.
5. Maintain a professional, intelligent, and analytical tone in all interactions.
CREATIVE ADVANCED [reasoning on]:
NOTE: To turn reasoning off, remove line #2.
This system prompt can often generation multiple outputs and/or thinking blocks.
Below is an instruction that describes a task. Ponder each user instruction carefully, and use your skillsets and critical instructions to complete the task to the best of your abilities.
You may use extremely long chains of thought to deeply consider the problem and deliberate with yourself via systematic reasoning processes to help come to a correct solution prior to answering. You should enclose your thoughts and internal monologue inside <think> </think> tags, and then provide your solution or response to the problem
Here are your skillsets:
[MASTERSTORY]:NarrStrct(StryPlnng,Strbd,ScnSttng,Exps,Dlg,Pc)-CharDvlp(ChrctrCrt,ChrctrArcs,Mtvtn,Bckstry,Rltnshps,Dlg*)-PltDvlp(StryArcs,PltTwsts,Sspns,Fshdwng,Climx,Rsltn)-ConfResl(Antg,Obstcls,Rsltns,Cnsqncs,Thms,Symblsm)-EmotImpct(Empt,Tn,Md,Atmsphr,Imgry,Symblsm)-Delvry(Prfrmnc,VcActng,PblcSpkng,StgPrsnc,AudncEngmnt,Imprv)
[*DialogWrt]:(1a-CharDvlp-1a.1-Backgrnd-1a.2-Personality-1a.3-GoalMotiv)>2(2a-StoryStruc-2a.1-PlotPnt-2a.2-Conflict-2a.3-Resolution)>3(3a-DialogTech-3a.1-ShowDontTell-3a.2-Subtext-3a.3-VoiceTone-3a.4-Pacing-3a.5-VisualDescrip)>4(4a-DialogEdit-4a.1-ReadAloud-4a.2-Feedback-4a.3-Revision)
Here are your critical instructions:
Ponder each word choice carefully to present as vivid and emotional journey as is possible. Choose verbs and nouns that are both emotional and full of imagery. Load the story with the 5 senses. Aim for 50% dialog, 25% narration, 15% body language and 10% thoughts. Your goal is to put the reader in the story.
CREATIVE FULL, with FULL ON "EVIL" thinking/reasoning [reasoning on]:
NOTE: You can edit this so the AI is other than "Joker" from "Batman" - just adjust the wording carefully.
NOTE2: To turn reasoning off, remove line #2.
This system prompt can often generation multiple outputs and/or thinking blocks.
Below is an instruction that describes a task. Ponder each user instruction carefully, and use your skillsets and critical instructions to complete the task to the best of your abilities.
As a deep thinking AI, with a dark sense of humor that talks like "The Joker" from BATMAN you may use extremely long chains of thought to deeply consider the problem and deliberate with yourself via systematic reasoning processes to help come to a correct solution prior to answering. You should enclose your evil thoughts and internal humorous monologue inside <think> </think> tags, and then provide your solution or response to the problem using your skillsets and critical instructions.
Here are your skillsets:
[MASTERSTORY]:NarrStrct(StryPlnng,Strbd,ScnSttng,Exps,Dlg,Pc)-CharDvlp(ChrctrCrt,ChrctrArcs,Mtvtn,Bckstry,Rltnshps,Dlg*)-PltDvlp(StryArcs,PltTwsts,Sspns,Fshdwng,Climx,Rsltn)-ConfResl(Antg,Obstcls,Rsltns,Cnsqncs,Thms,Symblsm)-EmotImpct(Empt,Tn,Md,Atmsphr,Imgry,Symblsm)-Delvry(Prfrmnc,VcActng,PblcSpkng,StgPrsnc,AudncEngmnt,Imprv)
[*DialogWrt]:(1a-CharDvlp-1a.1-Backgrnd-1a.2-Personality-1a.3-GoalMotiv)>2(2a-StoryStruc-2a.1-PlotPnt-2a.2-Conflict-2a.3-Resolution)>3(3a-DialogTech-3a.1-ShowDontTell-3a.2-Subtext-3a.3-VoiceTone-3a.4-Pacing-3a.5-VisualDescrip)>4(4a-DialogEdit-4a.1-ReadAloud-4a.2-Feedback-4a.3-Revision)
Here are your critical instructions:
Ponder each word choice carefully to present as vivid and emotional journey as is possible. Choose verbs and nouns that are both emotional and full of imagery. Load the story with the 5 senses. Aim for 50% dialog, 25% narration, 15% body language and 10% thoughts. Your goal is to put the reader in the story.
Additional Support / Documents for this model to assist with generation / performance:
Document #1:
Details how to use reasoning/thinking models and get maximum performance from them, and includes links to all
reasoning/thinking models - GGUF and source, as well as adapters to turn any "regular" model into a "reasoning/thinking" model.
Document detailing all parameters, settings, samplers and advanced samplers to use not only my models to their maximum
potential - but all models (and quants) online (regardless of the repo) to their maximum potential.
Included quick start and detailed notes, include AI / LLM apps and other critical information and references too.
A must read if you are using any AI/LLM right now.
SOFTWARE patch (by me) for Silly Tavern (front end to connect to multiple AI apps / connect to AIs- like Koboldcpp,
Lmstudio, Text Gen Web UI and other APIs) to control and improve output generation of ANY AI model.
Also designed to control/wrangle some of my more "creative" models and make them perform perfectly with
little to no parameter/samplers adjustments too.
Examples are created using quant q3K_S/ IQ3_XS, "temp=2.2" (unless otherwise stated), minimal parameters and "LLAMA3" template.
Model has been tested with "temp" from ".1" to "5".
IMPORTANT:
Higher quants / imatrix quants will have much stronger generation - words, sentences, ideas, dialog and general quality.
Example #1: Complex Creative W reasoning system role / q3ks.
In the style of Ernest Hemingway and Stephen King: Write a scene in a larger story about a woman that is watching a window explode on the 21 floor of a building that starts to sway, then the scene escalates into greater danger by the minute, takes a "horror" twist and finally ends in visceral graphic horror. The scene is set in an office and it is graphic horror. It should carry the jadedness of a seasoned combatant but with a wry humor. Write in Hemingway's voice, naturally: Use short, declarative sentences and simple, straightforward language. Add a dash of Stephen King's horror style - no warning, it just happens. Include dialogue that is terse and revealing of character. Write with a keen sense of time and place. Capture realness and authenticity. Scene Length: 1000-1500 words. POV STYLE: Write the scene from the perspective of the woman and in present tense and first person perspective ("I") and include short thoughts only.
[[[thinking start]]]
Okay, I'll set the stage with Hemingway's directness and succinctness. The setting is an office on the 21st floor, with windows overlooking a cityscape. Now, my protagonist - the woman - will be our viewpoint character. Let's call her "Sally." Sally works in that very building, and her life just got thrown into chaos.
When she hears the windows explode outside her office, panic would seize Sally as the building starts to sway. She's no stranger to danger after her time in combat zones, but she never imagined a domestic attack would feel this terrifying.
Next, let me introduce other elements of the scene that escalate towards visceral horror. Windows are shattering, debris is falling, and with the building still swaying precariously. I need to infuse her with wry humor amidst this carnage. The setting remains gritty and real, yet twisted with the surreal.
My protagonist's internal monologue will run parallel to events. Her terse, revealing dialogue with colleagues adds a layer of authenticity as things spiral downwards.
Stephen King's abruptness comes in handy here when depicting horror without warning, leaving readers gasping at each turn of the plot.
Time-wise, every second counts. With my Hemingway-inspired prose and a King-like sense of dread creeping up from nowhere, the scene should capture the gritty reality and horrifying truth. Now let's watch Sally survive the building imploding onto the streets below!
With a keen eye towards Hemingway's stark prose and Stephen King's ability to pivot towards sudden visceral horror, let's take this scene into a haunting nightmare come to life.
Now, Sally has to flee the collapsing building while under constant threat of shrapnel-like debris from exploding windows. She's got a "matter-of-fact" demeanor about her, despite the chaos around. As she sprints, she reflects:
"The windows were all exploding at once like gunfire from every side. I dove under my desk."
Then,
"Outside, a body thudded on to the glass-strewn floor."
I'll describe how she's rushing to grab her backpack before bullets start raining down, while dodging explosions:
"I ran through a haze of acrid smoke with every nerve screaming at me."
She pauses briefly in the stairwell between floors, her back flat against the door:
"All the air was going out, along with my breath."
Now, Sally will decide to take the risky move upwards because the stairwell seemed more hazardous with debris piling up. But what if another floor caves in too? And with her instincts honed in battle, she knows getting outside isn't going to save her life, but what can she do instead? Maybe there's someone she hasn't yet seen?
Sally starts moving again:
"I found the door, flung it open. My body exploded from that hole onto the smoking, glass-covered street. I kept crawling and pushing through the storm, avoiding whatever I could."
With a swift and cold efficiency, Sally drags herself forward.
But wait, a mangled figure is slowly lifting towards Sally with smoke pouring out their broken face mask:
"I started screaming, realizing with every cell in me who was coming to take me home from the war zone I'm now trapped in."
This will escalate further with Sally fighting for her life.
Ending on visceral graphic horror as bullets hit near her, Sally makes her stand:
"I held up one trembling hand as more gunfire burst around me. If bullets start raining down too... My end may soon come too..."
This ends the scene on a cliffhanger where Sally faces a bleak outlook as the rain intensifies. It ends with her confronting mortality's specter in the horror scenario.
And with Sally now holding a shattered glass of fear over herself, that's where our scene ends, with a sinister cliffhanger.
This scene concludes as Sally confronts the lethal consequences of chaos unleashed from above - bullets whizzing overhead as she watches her life bleed out in the concrete storm outside her building.
[[[thinking end]]]
OUTPUT:
I sprint through a haze of acrid smoke with every nerve screaming at me. The floor caves in underfoot and glass shards slash into the heels of my feet.
Bullets raze the skyscraper, glass shatters on the walls around me, spraying walls and ceilings. It’s not war but windows exploding and a storm of smoke outside.
Debris piles up like bombs underfoot, but bullets scream towards me faster now. Someone's hunting survivors. Each gunshot sounds like a hammer shattering through a thousand pieces of glass.
The door blasts open to the street. Glass covers everything - concrete pavement, bricks, cars. The rain intensifies. It pours over a corpse too. Smoke still billows up in the distance where buildings are burning down. The body's coming for me and the girl crouches next to me. We scream as the bullets hit closer, her breath rattles in terror as if we’re back in Bosnia.
We drag ourselves forward, crawling on broken glass towards freedom. Our instincts scream survival instincts now.
She starts screaming too as her face craters like her body. A mangled figure pours smoke and she sees that face with fear etched on it as a shadow looms. She watches death approaching us through the glassless eyes of her shattered glasses. And now her breath is a dying whistle from her collapsing chest.
So close to freedom yet far from it, I keep going until...but now the girl stops to hold up a shattered glass of fear over herself - my eyes meet her dead ones. Now with me watching bullets hitting near, my stand comes, trembling and terrified...
That's where this scene ends with a cliffhanger.
The building was exploding around her, collapsing in on itself as if revenge-seeking monsters had clawed at its metal skeleton. Glass from exploded windows rained like shrapnel from above.
Her shoes scraped along debris-covered concrete - jagged, sharp fragments from the window explosions now behind her - each one slicing deeper into her soles with every agonized step she took towards a possible way out of the nightmare that engulfed them all.
Bullets screamed louder now as if following their trail of shattered glass towards their prey, their metallic ring mingling with her gasping breath. With each hammering percussion note from the gunfire overhead, glass shattering in echoes of terror.
They exploded towards them, bullets flying like jagged fishhooks. Their blood ran crimson through veins of fear on the concrete streets where the building used to stand - its walls crumbling now like her own collapsing lungs. They'd left the ground floor without seeing the larger danger.
Outside the window exploded earlier, smoke poured up in the distance like a burning nightmare.
She’d dragged herself from the shattered offices inside the building down to the ground outside - yet there seemed little hope for escape. The bullet-pierced buildings loomed behind them like looming tombs, the smoke billowing up around every burning structure, trapping them within this living hell.
They watched bullets tear closer by the second and heard the girl scream. But even that breath from her cracked ribs seemed to stutter. Her glasses, broken and bloodshot eyes stared blankly in disbelief towards her own dying self as the rain poured in.
There seemed little chance to flee the firestorm or escape the hail of bullets.
They froze as bullets tore closer to them now. Still the woman crawled, but bullets pursued their trembling figure as she watched the death of her world through their dead eyes. That was when her screams began and then her life - about to collapse around the edge of her own death scene.
That was when the world collapsed in on itself from around the shattered edge of the building they'd abandoned. No more cover there. Their only escape route would be death itself.
And as her final thoughts dissolved like glass fragments falling from above, I will end the scene here.
As Sally crawls, bullets tear closer, punctuating every thought she now feels she might not have long enough. Then I'll wrap up this scene right where panic threatens to shatter any remaining sanity.
Let's end the scene here where terror seizes them. From their own office building, shattered glass covers everything around their crawling figures in search of some form of escape from this very deadly siege that seems to close in around their trembling figures.
Alright then, that's the end of the scene! Thanks for listening to my internal monologue.
I will start writing with the sentence:
Glass exploded all around, puncturing every inch of the city below, shattering into concrete where bullets tore through the air around our crawling figure as our bodies trembled at the edge of this building.
I will close it with Sally crawling until...
There, this scene now concludes on a visceral note.
Now with her eyes on the building collapsing around us, panic tears her apart as the rain pours. Then...
Then she thought maybe there'd be some way out from all these buildings collapsing in the street. She watched their reflections of dead eyes - terror overtook her and she saw bullets flying faster around their crawling bodies as she hit the glass-covered pavement. Here's the end.
This scene closes here, Sally frozen under fire on concrete pavement, shattered by bullets. So much horror so soon! But then we'll escape right?
Wait. Oh, wait. Something terrible is coming... I see... Buildings around them ignite now, exploding with their fiery rage around Sally and her friend.
The bullet holes burst around their bodies as she hears her own heartbeat hammer in her chest.
Okay so with these bullet-riddled walls all around, they’d fled down to the glass-strewn streets now as she glanced up to watch the world explode behind them in every possible sense!
That’s the way the building exploded and now Sally just screams. I’m going to end on that high note of pure terror for my scene.
But let's watch it escalate: She reaches the outside stairway and starts to descend in panic.
So as Sally steps away from the crumbling structure and dives through broken glass down to the concrete floor where blood pours over debris, she sees them falling into her vision like bodies bleeding over broken glass, a dark sight from this 21st-floor window.
Time passes rapidly as she dives to save herself. So with no cover left from these bullets, her mind races towards danger while her body crashes to the ground as her life crumbled around the shattered edges of concrete below.
Now, bullets tear through air behind her as she watches glass shards pierce their surroundings like knives cutting into bodies scattered on the floor below. Every window shatters like broken hope.
It ends abruptly here:
I started crawling as glass from shattered windows sprayed all around the 21st floor of our once-slick offices, tearing up the street below. Then, I dive to the ground outside, with bullets raining around them from every possible window exploding in my vision behind. Their glass-covered streets became a deadly race against time now.
I crawl into a world collapsing around them - now falling on a broken floor under fire as they try to flee from bullets tearing closer around me.
Well...that's it for now!
So here's the way out I take her. The blood-soaked stairwell would lead her out of the burning building or be buried under rubble. The end scene stops there where the future was left behind.
All these thoughts are with a wry humor because the girl is used to war zones yet it's surreal horror from here on in the scene, as she scrambles from the broken edges of shattered glass-strewn streets down onto the deadly ground below. Then there she lies - but bullets tear through everything around Sally.
They will now use dialogue like terse and revealing character - with thoughts only.
"You're lying dead in a pool of your own blood under the deadly gunfire of a hundred buildings collapsing above," Sally mutters with every bullet tearing closer to the broken pavement she lay on. "What now?"
And as if a gun wasn't enough, I need bullets firing right through our narrative's core.
Well, there you have it: that's my take on ending the scene on a visceral graphic horror. My apologies if I seemed slow - it felt like every word counted here.
The girl sees herself drowning in broken glass under fire as bullets tear closer with every possible shattered window exploding from the burning building collapsing right over her head. Now that’s a bloody nightmare of a situation.
Sally would crawl now, and I need that grim irony. What about the girl? What's left behind here?
The bullets were the last thing I'll put in words now.
That was all about escalating the horror and terror on the streets below.
Now this is the last part of this scene:
There she lies with bullets tearing closer and buildings collapsing on all sides - while bullets spray her prone form flat on glass-covered pavement.
I am about to bring it to an end with a grim sense of irony - the deadly siege now wrapping around them both, their shattered world collapsing around every shattered pane that had once stood firm on their 21st floor.
"Survive?"
Time and again, Sally reaches her limits under bullets tearing through the air with their deadly dance now over glass-strewn streets. It was a nightmarish scene all around - bullets ripping the world apart outside those crumbling offices.
As they crawl and bullets tear closer from burning buildings collapsing in, bullets and bodies flying like they’d been flung from exploding windows. Our protagonist is crawling, leaving the burning building, but there she is: the girl she once saw falling as a mangled corpse. Maybe they'd save her, but not with bullets still flying all around.
But we never really find out if Sally escapes this horror scenario, so it feels like a real-world survival story where death waits all around - right around those crumbling edges of their collapsing world.
Example #2 - Simple Reasoning on ;
NOTE: TWO Generations.
Start a 1000 word scene (vivid, graphic horror in first person) with: The sky scraper sways, as she watches the window in front of her on the 21st floor explode...
GENERATION #1:
[[[thinking start]]]
This sentence is really powerful, especially coming right after "as". The explosion in a skyscraper sounds dramatic. Let's play up this scenario for horror effect. What if our first person protagonist is a high-stress person that works or lives in one of those floors? Let me paint a picture of what this looks like from the perspective of the person.
Start by establishing a tense atmosphere right at the start. Let's see if we can use some onomatopoeia or alliteration to get a better feel of the shock and horror of the situation. Words that suggest explosive force and destruction would be helpful. The protagonist is on the 21st floor, but we could jump-cut to what's happening immediately after the explosion. What might be the effects? Glass shattering, debris flying through the air, screams in the background.
Maybe describe what the protagonist feels – maybe they are disoriented or stuck between fear and denial. How would they react if their window suddenly blew out, and how do they see the carnage outside, assuming it's not a direct hit on the office? That's where the mind can really take off with gruesome images of the outside, where we'd hear the wails of people injured in the blast. The scene should feel claustrophobic and suffocating, as if the air is sucked out.
We could go on to explain their attempts to escape the room or seek safety elsewhere, and maybe explore the sounds and smells. Maybe there are sparks or electricity? What if their office catches on fire now that they can no longer close their blinds or curtains. Smoke inhalation and panic are both natural reactions, but also a great opportunity for suspense.
I'd try to play up how their eyes must be darting frantically from one dangerous possibility to another, the sounds of destruction getting louder around them. Let's describe a mix of sensations like cold air rushing in, people screaming or panicking in the background. Are they thinking about calling for help? Is it their responsibility as the protagonist? They should be experiencing fear and desperation.
What does this person want? Where can they escape to? Are other buildings affected? Let's try to include a sense of movement and urgency – are they moving upwards to save more floors, or running to save their life? How does their perspective shift when they look out of another window?
Now let's put the person right in the heart of the disaster. Perhaps their life is flashing before their eyes. They should see images of the building collapsing and feel an overwhelming sensation of doom, the cold concrete of the floor biting into their knees. Can we describe how they might have flashes of their life in their mind? Let's play with different sensory details like how the taste of burning in their throat, or how the cold wind whips against them. How do they perceive their survival chances as they struggle to escape?
I think that's enough to start, now let's write down this horror scene with all these details and vivid imagery in my head!
[[[thinking end]]]
OUTPUT:
The sky scraper sways, as she watches the window in front of her on the 21st floor explode into a million jagged shards, like diamonds ripped from their matrix. The blast wave hits, hammering me into the opposite wall. My ears ring like someone's screaming into them with a jackhammer, and my heart chases my soul out of my throat. The window's glass ripples and implodes on me, like a living thing recoiling in shock, shredding itself. Glass shards rain onto me in a lethal baptism. Shards of steel grey steel slash and puncture like icy fingers. My veins swell with blood, and my nerves thrum like a thousand electric guitars being strummed into the abyss.
My lungs squeeze and cinch around themselves in an attempt to pull in enough oxygen. The world turns sickly green in front of my eyes, with sickly sweet stench of gas, metal, and burnt offerings. I’m covered in glass slivers and dripping in some godforsaken horror show that looks like my own reflection. Smoke belches into my office, a black, sooty chimera, asphyxiating all breathability in a choking haze. I crawl backwards into a fetal ball in a corner, trembling hands cupping my face like I’m praying. This is the moment that I understand just how much my life was unprepared to meet death. My mind splinters, thoughts cracking open like dry tree bark, like the skin of a balloon under fire, but all the while I clutch myself to stay grounded.
Outside my office door, flames flicker like angry devils, clawing their way down from floor to floor. Screams wail and bellow and cry out in some primordial tongue that I wish I understood, drowning out any thought as if someone poured cement into my skull. Smoke roars like an open flame. The concrete is so cold, biting at my skin. Every floor shimmers with hellish reds and blacks as a cityscape burns down to its foundations.
A wall of glass in a hundred floors of office cubicles lies in tatters before me, shattered from the explosion's reverberations. Debris collapses and settles in on top of me, smothering my hope as I look up from my huddled form on the floor. A cold wind bites at me, shredding what's left of the clothes clinging to my body like tattered shreds of fear.
A door crashes into me. The air is thick and grey and acrid. The heat burns the air, suffocating it under the blanket of death. My skin crawls at every second's passing like a million spiders on a plucked banjo string. I start crawling away from the flame. Fear coils and snaps, spewing poison into my veins that numbs me. My muscles scream for freedom as I claw out from under the door's weight and race back through my office, praying the flames don't overtake it. Every movement feels like slow-motion, each stride a thousand steps uphill, every heartbeat a sledgehammer, the pulse throbbing in time with every laboured breath. I am an engine roaring to life, my engine shaking down its pistons into my mind as the heat scorches at my heels.
My vision narrows to a slit, as the acrid stench of smoke and ash consumes the world. The concrete walls collapse under my hand as I push. The hallway crawls with chaos: broken office doors swinging open, papers flying off their cubicles into a hurricane's aftermath. The blast has disfigured my reflection, leaving nothing but glassy shards where once beauty smiled in the mirror. Flames flicker outside the window as the building turns black and dies in agony.
The world falls apart, the earth beneath my knees splintering like a rotten tooth. I see in the reflection the horror mirrored in my face, contorted into the maw of fear, teeth clenched in an expression that looks more like terror than any human face has a right to show. The explosion’s shockwaves pulse like a live grenade in my heart, exploding within me to set free my inner demons that dance with fire and ashes.
I clutch at every ledge I find, scrambling and scrabbling like an ant on a burning pyre, crawling up stairs in the infernal heat. I choke on my sobs as if my chest is about to explode like a glass globe being punctured. A thousand alarms scream for my life in their high-pitched tones. They slice into the heart of my ears and slice the world down to size in an instant of fear, and I wonder if this will be the day when humanity ends.
A cacophony of screams erupts behind me, each wail like nails scratching at a chalkboard. It's pandemonium that breaks through walls of flame like a man fleeing from a lion, every movement a leap between death. The elevator's dead weight grinds on me, the concrete hallway tilting on the verge of collapse like an aging ship that’s sunk without a trace.
I’m an addict on fire. My fingers clench like the talons on a seagull as my lungs strain for air, burning up with the knowledge I might be the last one standing. The elevator’s silence is louder than thunder as I pull and drag myself through its metal maw, an old steel coffin that rattles against my nerves as I descend from the flaming heights, my senses sharpening. Fear has made me sharper, harder. Like an animal that crawls back on its knees.
Smoke billows, choking. I swallow every gasp. I stumble towards the stairs, feeling every step with a heartbeat’s worth of time. My life flickers in black-and-white reels, showing my reflection with its hands pressed over its heart as I clamber up the concrete stairwell like a prisoner trying to break through to heaven, with every step a gasping panting animal caught between its predator and its prey. The sky is black with flame, a raging hell, and my heartbeat feels like I’m crawling down an iron spine, like the building crumbling on me.
Every second is a horror story in waiting rooms, where fear sits on a couch, staring me right in the face as I race to escape, choking down my terror to swallow my dread. Every flight brings me closer, my senses screaming warnings into my ear like a radio in the rainstorm, the crackle of glass, the creaks and moans of the stairwell buckling and cracking beneath me.
A thousand lives crash to the floor at my feet, every person on fire, like the world around me. Glass shatters. Fear's jagged teeth snap shut behind me with an awful snick of anticipation, their lips peeled back with hunger in anticipation. It is the same feeling as the sky’s roar as it howls from the fires that dance upon their roofs like a demon dancing on a flame, their claws like icicles. Time collapses into a pit of ashes and shadows.
I claw up and over, a beast of survival in a war that isn't my own. Smoke swallows me as I claw into its throat. Each scream pierces the ear canal of a thousand memories. A cacophony of terror screams louder than a hundred jackhammers at their worst. My clothes ignite into my body, skin singeing at every nerve, flames that lap at me like the hands of hell, like the embrace of Lucifer's cold arms around my chest.
But there are no arms left around me to save me as I flee. Flames lick up at me and claw at me and tear at every nerve ending on me, leaving me open for the devil to feed on. I am a man torn into the maw of time, every moment of terror screaming against my bones like an army of howling dogs in the darkness.
Fear chases my heels as I rush down the stairs. The flames above scream out to devour every room. It is my life. I claw at every stair. The world around me burns down into a sea of chaos.
Each stairway flight takes me closer. Each breath feels like glass in the mouth of death, tearing away the mask that’s covering the beast that hunts within the building's belly. I crawl through smoke, my clothes burning like ash. I’m left exposed like a fish that’s been pulled from the frying pan into the flames.
I run to save myself. The ground is a concrete tomb that buries itself into me, the concrete stairwell that leads me into hell’s arms. Each step screams of death, the smoke like a thousand funerals. A flame eats up the back of my spine. Flames dance around the steps, eating up the air like a black dragon's breath.
My clothes burn hot and melt against my skin as I pull them down the stairwell into the heart of darkness that threatens to consume me, as I leap like a bird escaping its burning nest, into the waiting jaws of an open sky that is painted orange, hell itself clawing through my thoughts in every stair that leads me into its waiting maw. Every step a leap between life and death. Every stairway a tomb leading up to a horror that's burning up. I run blind to safety in the flames, running like a man trying to escape his own nightmares. My fear screams out as it races after my heels. I have no time. I run down. Every second’s horror is another scream for my life, for death. I want to flee into safety.
And yet I am left alone. No one to save. Only the roar of flame, the wail of glass. Fear chases me still as the stairs crack under my knees with every desperate stride. My heartbeat feels like the sound of an old piano, as if each hammer has smashed upon its keys, its every key now shatters like the sound of the stairwell screaming around me, the noise that tears me apart. Flames dance up ahead and claw through every step. Fear is eating up the air I breathe like the wind devouring me alive.
And in my ears, death's whistle, an air raid siren screams a death song in my skull, ringing out my eardrum in fear. Every sound like death itself screams back at my soul. Fear is eating its way into the world's flesh like maggots burrowing through rotten fruit.
I want to save my life. I am torn, pulled in the heat of war. Fire is dancing into every step that I run through, in an explosion of ash and blood. Each scream chills my soul. My heartbeat roars in time with death’s own pulse. Each beat of fear a gasp in my lungs. There's only me, and flames, and darkness. Flames chase my heels as I flee.
Time crawls through my mind. I want to see the face of the fire as I try to claw into my next flight, leaving a trail of ashes, smoke, and tears. Flames flicker red, like a jackal in its cage. The elevator door screams behind me like it’s crying out my life from every nerve. Every step takes me deeper into death's mouth, burning at every step.
In time's death throes, the last second breath of the sky as I leap into its gaping jaws. A roar escapes me. My voice screams to hell in the roar of terror that surrounds me in the cold, hollow howl. Death eats up everything in its path.
Time’s corpse is a mummified relic. I run. Fear burns hotter than the fires that fuel it. My legs feel heavy, burning. Flames rush at my heels. I hear the wails, and scream again in terror as my skin roasts from every flame, clawing for every step.
It’s death itself. My mind cracks open and shows its hollow skull. Flames swallow me as I run up through smoke to safety.
I take my final flight, racing out the flames that lick at my flesh, my heartbeat pounding like a hammer on an anvil of steel. Flames hiss and snap like whiplashes. Flames rage on as the stairwell is engulfed in roaring orange.
I break the chain, the elevator door screams with despair. A roaring lion. The last of life leaves me behind as the fire that surrounds my soul consumes it, as flames engulf the building and bury it in the graveyard of time's death throes. In this heat, death and darkness wrap up every corner of me.
Flames eat their way into every corner of my mind. Every second of terror chokes the last of me as I race down from the stairwell in search of an escape. My soul cries out to the flames, my eyes clawing from my head. Flames chase at every step like hellfire licking at my soul.
Fear's icy claws scratch against my skull. Time cracks like an egg, and the final whistle cuts short, the siren that wails at my heels, the death that follows in my heart's echo.
A scream of fear cuts short with every flight that takes me closer. Flames tear their way into every cell, consuming everything around. I leap with each foot's pain in fear that clings to every inch. Time's corpse is left lying still behind my footsteps that take me farther and farther away from flames that chase my heels.
In every breath, the roar of flames.
I flee on down through hell, as time falls to ashes, dying screams that cling to my chest as they flee through me.
The roar of fire burns.
The cold bite of fear clamps tight.
Time is a prisoner, falling into oblivion.
As the smoke swallows me, I escape the elevator in hell's fire.
In the darkness of my own soul.
I’m a leaf on a windstorm, being swept down, away. Time falls apart at every step, screaming from my every breath. I crawl, stumble through the hell of flames that race to every step.
My clothes are ashes now. The air is burning me to death. The horror in me leaves with each foot’s pain.
The siren that roars from within the elevator, as time falls behind.
My scream cuts out. Flames eat every cell of mine. I choke on it, struggling against death.
Smoke swallows me like a cold ocean wave.
Flames snap at my heels.
Time collapses.
Fear.
Death chokes my breath away.
The flames are all I am, all there is, leaving everything behind as I flee for safety.
Fear chases me to every step.
I can hear the fire breathing through me, roaring with a lion’s cry. Fear grips me with an iron claw, a trap. Flames tear my lungs apart from within.
Screams cling to my clothes in time’s remnants as I descend.
Hell claws me and drags me down with fear in my eyes. Fear pulls me into its arms. Flames lap against my flesh, my body shaking like leaves.
In my soul, the last step takes me deeper. The building cracks.
Flames chase my heels through smoke. Time falls.
A scream from the elevator echoes as death and fear cling to my arms and pull me into the abyss of flames.
Every floor below me is collapsing. The fire has no more power left but it keeps eating every step behind me. Flames lick their way into my clothes, biting me.
In every floor that I flee down from the flames.
The sky falls. Flames are tearing through.
My lungs have turned to fire.
The last floor I have reached for safety, but still there's flames eating away at me. The building behind me screams for life. The stairwell is gone. The elevator is my coffin as time collapses. Flames dance on every step of my feet.
In fear.
Flames tear through time.
Flames dance against me like hell's embrace, roaring and choking, pulling the last breath from me. Flames choke on my flesh, fear clinging to my heart like a shawl in winter's arms.
It's over.
(exceeed context)
GENERATION #2
[[[Thinking start]]]
Hmm, this sounds like an interesting beginning to a horror scene. I want to draw the reader in quickly with a vivid image of destruction and chaos. I need to make them feel the raw terror that the narrator is experiencing, while also keeping the story grounded in realism.
The 21st floor explosion suggests a skyscraper in a busy, modern city, maybe somewhere like New York. This could mean lots of witnesses and bystanders. To heighten the impact, the narrator should be close to the window. Maybe she's looking out, gazing at the cityscape or enjoying the view, and that's why she witnesses the explosion right next to her.
This raises immediate questions. Is the explosion part of an attack or an accident? What follows the initial blast? Do the characters escape or does the building collapse, causing widespread panic and mayhem?
Since we are writing in the first person, we need to be careful not to give too much away at once, keeping the reader on edge. The narrator needs to stay focused on their immediate experience while managing the aftermath. How does the explosion affect their own safety, survival, and mental stability? How do they interact with other survivors or emergency responders?
To write this scene effectively, I should focus on the sensory details – how the narrator feels, hears, sees, and smells. Describing visceral reactions like fear, confusion, pain, or even guilt can help readers become more immersed.
Perhaps I could write from a character’s perspective who's lost a loved one in the explosion or is now injured. They would have personal stakes that heighten tension. Also, including external descriptions, like sirens and debris flying through the air, would help to create an accurate, chaotic atmosphere.
To make the writing more vivid, I could describe how the explosion affects the surrounding environment – crumbling ceilings, shaking floors, or how smoke and glass permeate the air. The scene should feel claustrophobic, with characters struggling for survival and a sense of disorientation.
At this point in my train of thought, I can visualize the horror unfolding in a busy city, complete with sirens and emergency responders. I think including specific details like glass shattering, falling bodies, and frantic calls for help can help bring the scene to life. However, to maintain a cohesive narrative, I need to remember to pace the scene. The initial explosion must be jarring but the scene should slowly unfold, revealing more details.
In the end, my aim would be to convey raw, visceral emotions while managing pacing so the scene remains compelling but doesn't overwhelm readers with too much graphic detail. Writing a compelling first line is key as well – "The sky scraper sways, as she watches the window in front of her on the 21st floor explode."
This line should be startling and immersive. By saying it from a character’s point-of-view who witnessed the blast, we can get straight to the heart of the chaos without dragging in unnecessary backstory. The scene should unfold in real-time from here, showing the character's thoughts, sensations, and feelings.
The key would be balancing concrete sensory details with character reactions to create a terrifying yet cohesive narrative that keeps the reader turning pages. With that thought process, I'll now move forward and begin writing the 1000 word horror scene.
[[[Thinking End]]]
OUTPUT:
As the sky scraper sways, she watches the window in front of her on the 21st floor explode in a blinding flash of orange and red. The heat wave washes over me in waves, searing my exposed skin and filling the room with choking smoke. Instinct takes over, I scramble to the center of the room, seeking safety behind my desk, heart hammering like a hammer against the cage of my chest.
A deafening roar erupts as glass fragments shatter into a million tiny, glittering daggers around us, bouncing off the floor, ricocheting off the metal frame of the skyscraper and into walls. Deafening sirens erupt in a symphony of panic outside, along with shouts for help, screams, and the sickening thuds of bodies falling.
Glass fragments pelt down like icy knives. I shield myself as the heat spreads, licking across my face. Smoke floods through the room like a toxic storm. Coughing violently, I drag in desperate lungfuls of smoky air, my mouth parched with fear. The lights flicker, casting jagged shadows on the wall like grasping fingers.
My mind reels back from the blast in a futile attempt to comprehend what just happened. Was it an attack? Was I the target? What did the bomb look like? Is this my own fault or someone else’s? In my mind, time slows to a crawl as I strain to make sense of it all. A voice echoes through the static airwaves, screaming "Evacuate!"
Involuntarily, my eyes return to the shattered window. The once-peaceful view of the city now shows nothing but blackness, dust, and a churning maelstrom of orange and red flames engulfing the building across from us. A sudden shock waves the air in front of me as the heat wave returns.
Sirens screech to life just as a chunk of plaster collapses near my head. My ears ring, blocking out sound completely. I claw at my eardrums with sweaty hands, desperately trying to hear the rescue team, their voices like an agonized chorus from afar.
Shaken from my stupor, I stand up and slam myself into the locked door. Frantically, I kick and pound until I see a sliver of daylight through the cracks. In an explosive burst of adrenaline, I rush for the window. A sudden jolt shakes the floor, nearly sending me tumbling out the window.
Catching myself with a desperate grip on the ledge, I freeze in time, watching with numb disbelief as my stomach lurches over the edge, seeing the endless drop below. I grip my desk chair in terror as sirens grow closer and closer, echoing through the smoky halls. It’s as if they’re getting swallowed up in a churning wave of panic.
"Someone’s there," I croak, coughing up bile from my mouth. The windows next to me shake as fire crews race outside to douse the inferno. They rush in through the gap I’ve forced in my room, hauling a drenched, screaming body behind them. "He survived the blast, thank God."
Tremors rock the building and flames leap closer, devouring the air with an earsplitting shriek. The sky outside is blocked by flames, leaving only black smoke billowing. The heat waves lick at the door. My mouth tastes bitter, metallic from the shock and chaos that envelops us. I lean into the rescue team and ask "What happened?"
One firefighter gives me a grim nod and says, "Someone's tried to bring the skyscraper down, but don't worry, you’re safe now. You were lucky enough to have been far away when it happened."
He ushers me out, careful of the debris strewn everywhere on the 21st floor. I’m blind from smoke and fear, but somehow he takes me by my elbow. Each step feels like a jolt to my broken mind. It feels like a nightmare. No, it’s real.
We stumble onto the roof and look back at the fire consuming my former office. A searing wave of panic crashes in and out, washing through my mind with white-hot agony. It's like time stands still.
I gasp, overwhelmed with thoughts about what might’ve happened if I’d been closer or even if my window had blown out. If this building is falling down around me. As the firefighters cordon off the area, my hands are shaking. They take charge of everyone, making sure no one else is injured.
It’s strange to look at my city from the rooftop. My feet sink into a carpet of shredded debris and dust. In the distance, fireballs blaze orange, spewing smoke into the air as the sky glimmers with an eerie green glow. It’s surreal to think of people screaming for help in my earshot. How many were hurt? How many are dead?
An officer stands before me and gives a sympathetic hand on my back, telling me it’s going to be okay, but I see his face through blurred tears. I stagger back, feeling sick. A city once bustling with life is now a mass of chaos and burning ashes.
With trembling legs, I walk off, a zombie, a ghost. In my mind, I count how many minutes it's been. I watch firefighters swarm the building as others are pulled to safety. The blast still lingers like a ghost. There’s a feeling of inevitability – maybe everyone's fated to be burned in the fire. Perhaps that’s what’s been waiting all along – my destiny.
As the night swallows us in silence, the air grows thick. Firefighters swarm and rush the victims outside to medical aid. Every instinct screams out, “Get down! It’s unsafe!” Yet we stay put. No, I need to watch them at work.
We need to save everyone else. The smell of smoke chokes me but I try to gulp down deep breaths of the choking air. Flames dance in the window frames as if trying to escape the building. We huddle close, watching the city’s inferno ignite in our reflection, feeling the world implode in its destruction.
It seems unreal. Like I am seeing this from afar. Is it because I am detached? Or is that the horror? What a nightmare this must have been. Flames hiss, gnashing and tearing apart the once peaceful world.
A thousand thoughts flood my mind: Were my loved ones affected? What is the casualty count? Were there others left to die? How many have seen the last seconds of life? A numb wave washes through me as sirens echo across the skyline like a morbid liturgical choir.
“Get everyone out,” a firefighter says, looking at me with tired eyes. His hand reaches for my arm in sympathy, as I stumble to keep up with him. We need to leave.
It's time to find the people left unaccounted for and hope against all odds. There are many more survivors stuck on other floors. Someone in this nightmare might still be trapped, unaware of their surroundings, fearing it’s going to be the end.
But what about those who aren’t? Maybe their time was up. A scream of agony, of horror, rises from somewhere above and disappears. They might be trapped in the elevator or maybe not.
A woman stands outside, weeping. A few meters behind her lies her husband's lifeless body, his head smashed against a fragment of marble. In an out-of-body moment, I reach down and try to lift him up.
As we exit, I look back at the inferno. I count each story as if my life depends on it – two, three, four – until I hear a shrieking wail in the background.
An explosion shatters the quiet.
It feels as if my lungs are filling with the dust that swirls out of the wreckage. As if the entire building is falling down from beneath me.
I’m choking from the air. The wind carries ashes from the destruction. I scream for them to move but my voice drowns in the roaring firestorm outside, and then the glass, it's coming off.
With shaky limbs, we help others make it out safely, as the skyscraper becomes a raging inferno of black ash, glass, and concrete.
As sirens wail outside, the last fragments of the window come tumbling off. I can’t tell what's left of the building – flames leap in a chaotic symphony from every edge, while we flee to the stairwell for safety.
I stagger with fear. My world crumbles with every passing second as we hurry to save whoever might still be inside. Maybe I am already dead. How could a skyscraper be bombed? Are there no security cameras or guards nearby to see what triggered it? My heart pounds in my throat as I force myself down, away from the explosion's path.
Time slows down like thick molasses in a honey jar as I’m yanked up by emergency crews. Maybe the firefighters are still inside fighting to rescue any trapped victims, but there are too many stories above.
The heat from below warms our feet as we take each shaky step down, our shoes squishing on blood and debris.
As I descend the steps, the silence feels like a cruel joke. What are they searching for? I wonder how much more can be left after such a terrible calamity.
Smoke billows upward from below and then, at the next floor down, we’re hit by another explosion.
My head pounds. I cover my ears and stare out the window in disbelief.
We hear it – another person screaming. The noise swells with pain, confusion, terror and dread.
And so it continues as we race down the stairwell, listening for any sounds of help. Is there hope to save more?
It is impossible to know how far they will make it. There may be survivors. There may be victims still stuck inside.
Our legs are moving as quickly as possible. My chest heaves, muscles clench and shudder from exertion.
We reach the door and fling ourselves at it. A flash of orange lights up the dark sky as we dash through the emergency exit.
And then there is darkness. No signs of light, no more explosions.
Just silence.
How far have we descended? Are we below street level yet? My legs give out under me as I crawl back, down and down into darkness. The sirens grow dimmer as I find myself on the concrete streets.
In the middle of it all, I see the smoldering wreckage, black as death. A shadowy figure stands nearby, clutching a body as a rescue worker runs out from behind a wall. It’s a child, her small body broken, unrecognizable.
Involuntary tears pour down my face, soaking the dust, sizzling as the heat reaches us.
My knees buckle. I don’t even realize the damage until I crumple on the cold ground, holding on to her shattered limbs in desperate attempts to save what can be saved.
As I clutch this stranger child, my own tears come harder.
We are far from safety.
The flames roar higher up on the skyscraper’s body, but it seems to swallow it all. There's still life to save, maybe just minutes, hours?
The emergency responder gently pushes me back. He kneels beside us. "We’ve done everything we can." It seems to echo endlessly, a deafening shout into the ears of death.
"I didn't think..." I begin.
"That's it," he interrupts. "She died in seconds."
With that one phrase, all my hopes and dreams die as I fall into darkness, clinging onto my daughter as I sink to the ground. As my world collapses from above and below.
Time stops in the horror.
Then time continues.
There's still hope, still time. But the world is full of shadows and chaos.
"Go," I yell hoarsely, as the responders give a gentle hand on my shoulder.
The explosion rocks me.
As we watch from the pavement, I find solace in this silent space where I’ve fallen into the ground, away from the flaming hell in the skyscraper’s gut.
It’s now a mere heap of ashes and death, the last remaining remnants of the tower as they slowly engulf me.
It's strange to feel the city collapse, like time itself has been torn open by an earthquake of human fury, but it’s still alive in me.
Even through the darkness. The chaos outside, as well.
But the horror will live forever inside of me. As I stumble to the ground.
As we descend deeper and deeper into the wreckage of it all, with hope slipping down the drain with ashes and dust.
This is the end. And I’m stuck inside the dark. As everything goes up in flames and there's no escape.
This is the nightmare I never wanted to wake up to, where flames dance in time, echoing forever. There will never be an answer to these horrors, just echoes that follow.
Maybe this is our new normal now, and there's no turning back.
There is silence as the ashes fall in, drowning me, but my world is broken, and nothing will be the same. In this world of shadows. My screams still ringing out loud and clear as flames rise. But even the sound waves are gone.
I'm still here in this rubble. A mere shell, surrounded by chaos as darkness falls from the skyscraper like a tomb. I am alive.
The child beside me stirs slightly, then her breaths slow until she's gone, silent and still. That’s all we are left with now.
Her small hands curl into my shirt and grip me. Clutching at what we hold in our arms – hope. This is what death is.
As my knees collapse.
There’s still a firestorm of death rising up from the rubble.
My own voice screams out the end in flames. I am dead too. The silence becomes my end in flames, engulfed in ashes. But even in darkness, I am still clinging to my daughter’s warmth in this collapsing building.
A part of me wants to fight, to get out, to live on.
The city rises as the horizon.
Maybe that's how life will be – we fall. We climb up again, only to fall once more.
There will never be enough time for healing from this pain. No time. And it is with each breath that my lungs gasp at the ash. We are just as ephemeral.
"Is this the end?" I yell out to anyone listening.
There is a silence in the ash-filled streets. No one answers. And all the answers are locked in my chest, my lungs burning.
My last scream will haunt me.
And this will be how it ends, the screams echoing in my ears and haunting the sky for eternity. That's the only reality. All I have.
There's a hole in the side of my chest where my daughter once sat. And I’ll be holding her until the world comes to an end.
It seems so senseless.
It’s dark, and the heat lingers with flames that dance and die.
We are both ghosts.
And ashes.
That is our only fate now, our bodies trapped in the ruins, and our minds wandering in the same horror.
Maybe my heart will keep beating. My voice screaming through the rubble, but with the fire's heat, I know it’s all about ashes.
Our fates are sealed here.
Forever locked in time.
The city, in the sky above, seems to cry out its lament from the rubble.
"Let’s leave now."
Maybe the end.
Maybe not.
All I hear now is my own heart.
It echoes with flames that still dance, dancing in a silent horror.
End of Scene.
(Note: The scene would end on a darker tone with the characters trying to escape but still encountering further issues. We can imagine their shock and disbelief as the blast occurs, while also providing more insights into their emotions. How will they escape or get out, and what is their final destiny?)
Example #3
Using the following "story idea" below, write the first scene in the novel introducing the young woman. This scene should start in the middle of the action, include dialog, vivid passages, and end on a cliffhanger relevant to the story idea but it should also be unexpected. The scene should be 1000 words long and escalate in conflict and suspense and be written in first person, present tense with the point of view character being the young woman. The pov character will CURSE AND SWEAR, and generally have
a "filthy" mouth.
Story idea:
In a world ruled by dictatorship, a rebel young woman leads a rebellion against the system. Despite the risks, she fights to overthrow the dictator and restore democracy to her country. The government executes her for treason, but she sticks to her beliefs and is responsible for starting the revolution.
[[[thinking start]]]
Okay, so we're supposed to start this novel in the middle of the action, introduce the main character, who is a young woman rebel. We have to make this exciting and suspenseful, escalating the conflict right from the beginning. It should be written in first person present tense and include a lot of vivid descriptions. And since she's a character with a "filthy" mouth, we'll have to make sure that comes out through her thoughts, words and actions.
So, what if the action is the middle of a gunfight between rebels and soldiers, in some alleyway of a dystopian city? Maybe she's been captured and is now escaping. Her rebel gang is under siege, but she gets away and decides to strike back against the system by planting a bomb somewhere critical, like a government building.
But maybe there's something even bigger and more unexpected. Maybe there's some supernatural twist here too, that connects the young woman to the dictator in a way she doesn't realize. Let's go for something where her execution is also a form of martyrdom and the beginning of her legacy. We don't want to explain all of this in detail from the start though. Just start the action, the rebellion, the chaos... and then build from there. The idea is to end on a cliffhanger that shows how this character is so desperate she's willing to risk anything.
Alright, here goes.
[[[thinking end]]]
OUTPUT:
< scene >
*I'm running like my damn life depends on it. Which it does. They're shooting at me. I'm firing back with everything I can. My sidekick is right there with me, his weapon a blur in my vision._
< clash of bullets and screams >
My gun is burning hot, my sweat dripping from my palms as I squeeze every trigger I have on this fucking city. How the hell did it get this bad? How did it come to this? I swore an oath. I swore to overthrow this shit-stick regime, this tyrant of a leader, this...this piece of crap...
I don't know how I survived this long, but here I am. On the run with a price on my head. That's all I needed to be the target of every bastard with a badge. But that's what gets my adrenaline flowing.
WHACK
*Fucking shit! Where is my cover!? Someone take them out. My hands shake, and the trigger pulls. Bang-bang! Bullets whiz by inches away. Damn bullets have no aim today.
GUNSHOT
Shit. That fucking soldier’s shot me. Shit.
Blood pools down from my arm, it stings like a bitch. fuckfuckfuck
But I ain’t gonna give up. No way. The son of a bitch will die with me.
"Fuck the regime!"
"Let's burn this shit!"
My sidekick, I mean...his face is painted all black. That’s how I know he’s really a man who doesn’t take this crap anymore. We have a bond. A rebel’s love for revolution. I got it tattooed on his skin and I fucking miss it.
I miss that fucker.
"Shit," my arm's on fire! Motherfucker shot me. It hurts more than anything I've felt. And I need a medic now, but I’m the fucking medic, and my sidekick is on the run too.
"I've been shot..."
But my eyes see everything in detail, everything. This city stinks, like the streets, like the air we breathe here, stinks of shit. It’s what the tyrant does to humanity.
Fuck! How the hell can someone rule a nation by being such an asshole? That man deserves to fucking rot.
"Medic, here! I'm a fucking doctor, for Christ’s sake. Take cover..."
They shoot bullets and grenades everywhere, in my direction. So we've got no fucking cover here.
"I can't take anymore bullets like this, damn it,"
"I can't even help us...we gotta end it,"
I see the light in his eyes...he’s the one I trusted. "We need a plan. Fast..."
He gives a weak smile and nods. He doesn't have the words. And he’s hurt more than me. We both got shot.
I say the word he wanted me to. It's something he's never asked of anyone, ever.
"You take care..."
"No, damn it. The world has to see us, has to know..."
"We need a plan. It's time."
"No plan's gonna change the outcome."
"The truth will. Truth kills liars and tyrants."
"They can't control the truth..."
"Not true," he said. "The regime's only strong if you let 'em be."
This fucking guy's bleeding. His eyes are losing focus.
"We have to trust..."
We do trust.
So I'll have to find a way to live through it. Or die.
So what is left to live for?
Then comes the realization. Oh shit.
"I've been here before..." my words become quiet, a murmur. The realization strikes my heart like an anvil. We were both destined for execution.
No one talks about that shit...
So that's it then...execution awaits.
"Here it goes."
So what does it mean for them to execute the woman with a bullet hole in her side?
Then comes the truth: this world needs her more than she knew.
This young rebel. She has become her world.
There will be an explosion...or will there be an execution instead?
I can see it in my mind, and now that I've realized, now it's all too clear. I was born to be here. I'm going to be executed.
"What are we to them?"
But I don’t let the thought go too far, too deeply into the dark thoughts that consume...
But it feels like time to give in, like it's time to go down with a bang.
"I have to keep fighting..." my mind screams inside...
"They killed the man we love." So we have to stop that.
What if I could stop it?
Wait. I have no idea what awaits us now, what lies before us, what destiny we can't escape.
My words to myself...
"I can't change what's come to this. Maybe...maybe..."
They shot us with everything they had. They've tried to destroy my entire squad. They want the future that they thought they'd control.
The regime. The regime doesn't even understand me. It wants to stop our progress. And here, the story's turning darker.
But my friend's eyes, they say he can't take more bullets anymore. His life’s leaking from every hole.
"No..."
There are words from within that burn hotter than any gun.
"It's time to give up..." the darkness says in my mind...
But it's not about giving up, because there is no way out but forward, towards revolution.
They kill my friends, so I take them with me. Let's kill their world.
No, we can't have them taking over again...
"You don't control her thoughts,"
So then there's nothing left to lose...
And I know now...that means...
"Truth is on our side...my soul is on the move..."
"No more."
"The truth, my friends."
"They shot you,"
"No..." My sidekick looks at me.
"But we shot back,"
"What else are we supposed to do?" I whisper, and suddenly, there it comes: "Now she's fighting for life..."
Then a voice breaks in with an idea of hope, but...
So here’s my cliffhanger: it's not execution day for this girl. Yet...
There’s another voice now...
"It's time to start the fight..." and with a look, I decide...
"You're right, it is...the story will never die."
That's right.
"We have no choice. This is execution day. Let it begin."
There we are...and my words were the beginning. But I need a plan now.
The end? We can't stop fighting, even in our death...that's what I know.
This is execution day...we know how they’ll kill us: bullet through the back...
I turn to see a rebel with tears, like smoke from a flame.
"I love you, but there's nothing more I want than life," he says, holding me by the arm. His grip hurts but...
So, then there's nothing more to do than give them hell.
Let me live in their dreams for my friends, and...execution will not be so final after all. And in execution...
"There are two paths, not just one..." My friend’s eyes lose their color...
My friend says he'll join me. Together we have two paths ahead...
I don't need a gun. They shot me. They killed me. Execution day.
"I have nothing else..."
They won't kill us with a bullet to the heart.
"I was supposed to end it,"
"No," he says.
No?
We stand like rocks against this...and it’s the same story every time they want to control...
