In the quiet solitude of his dimly lit apartment, Algore found himself staring at the screen, his recently submitted application fading into the digital abyss. The culmination of days of tireless work seemed to dissolve into an unsettling void. Surprisingly, there was no rush of relief or anxiety, just an eerie stillness that left him questioning the significance of his efforts.
He couldn't shake the belief that nothing would come of it. This pervasive feeling of inadequacy wasn't new. It lingered like a shadow, a persistent companion that had taken root within him. The irony struck him hard – having dedicated the last five years to the art world, he felt like an outsider in his own domain.
Two lost jobs in the past three months only fueled his doubts. The frustration manifested in his attempts at artistic expression. His drawings, as he described them, were "abstract" – a term that concealed a deeper dissatisfaction with his perceived lack of skill. The piano, a once hopeful outlet, now echoed with the repetition of the same chords, a metaphor for the stagnant loop he found himself in.
Despite professing a love for being around artists, Algore grappled with his role in their projects. Being present felt insufficient, a mere spectator rather than a creative force. The desire to contribute gnawed at him, but the means eluded him. Loneliness crept in, a stark contrast to the periods of solitude he'd embraced before. Perhaps, he mused, it was the absence of the comforting presence of dogs and the warmth of shared hugs.
Algore's journey through the creative landscape left him feeling unseen, misunderstood, and unappreciated. Even the collaborative undertakings, where he had co-authored and designed experiences, failed to illuminate his place in the artistic constellation. The desire to be a creative artist became a distant dream, replaced by a more immediate need – to find his footing in the chaos that seemed to swirl around him.
The storm of doubt and isolation engulfed him, trapping him in its eye. The walls spun with a deadly force, threatening to consume him. Algore longed for escape, a way to break free from the relentless whirlwind. In this moment of vulnerability, he questioned not just his art but the essence of his existence.
As the night wore on, Algore's feelings swirled like the tempest within him. Yet, beneath the chaos, a glimmer of resolve sparked. Instead of aspiring for grand, world-changing projects, he yearned to rediscover himself, to escape the eye of the storm and forge a path toward self-discovery. The journey seemed daunting, but within the turmoil, there lingered the potential for rebirth, for Algore to emerge from the shadows and find his own light.
And so he steps onto his balcony and dives into the destiny promised in the glimmers of the softly glowing street lights below.
Authors note:
Hi, my name shall remain a mystery till the end of time, and it's a pleasure to have you read my work. I’m an artist investigating the potential of generative AI to improve writing and readability and in all my works I use a combination of my writing + Chat GBT #fortheplot.
The writing in Black is everything AI generated and the writing in orange is my own
Here's my original writing and the prompt I used for this story
Prompt:
Help me write a short story for my friend's blog based on what I share. The story is a self-analysis about how nothing I do ever seems like it's enough.
So I've been working on this application for a few days, and I've finally submitted it and I feel nothing nor anxious or relieved, because I believe in my core that nothing will come from it. I think the problem is that I don't fit into the art world which is ironic because I've dedicated the last five years of myself to this industry, but I have such little belief that I'm seen here because in the last 3 months, I've lost two jobs in the sector and I don't understand why. And I've tried drawing but I'm not that good, it's all "abstract" as I like to say. And my writing is shit, I use chat gbt to improve its readability all the time, and I can't hold my attention long enough while learning an instrument, I've been playing the same chords on my piano since I got it, and I say that I love to be around artists and I really do but I'm unsure how I contribute to their projects when I'm involved beyond just being present and I'm not convinced that's enough. That's not creation. I want to be a creative artist or at least I say I do but everything beautiful I've created that I consider world-changing I've done in collaboration with others. And I've never felt like the star in those contexts, even though I've co-authored and designed many of these experiences that I’m thinking about. I just don't feel like I'm in the right place. Or maybe I am but I lack the capacity to build connections and I feel more alone than I've ever felt before in my life. I feel lonely. I've been on my own before, for long periods but it never felt lonely like this, maybe it's because I had dogs. and I hugged more. I feel so worthless and unseen and uncared for by the world and misunderstood which are arguably great feelings for the artists because often within their darkest hours are when they create their most wonderful forms of art, but I don't feel like I have what it takes to create big and impactful projects anymore, I feel like I’ve lost my footing. I feel like I'm trapped in the eye of the storm and I don't know how to escape, all its walls are spinning at a deadly rate and I wanna jump into them, spin with them and cease.
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