Ritualistic Pandemic Hamsters

Now, with the outbreak of the pandemic, they were to celebrate with exhausted rituals

Photo by Liam Charmer on Unsplash

PROMPT: bird's eye view

In the last days, the weight of bad news had held them together. Debts grew, and the presence of the widows depressed the Hamsters.

All day the Hamsters and the Franks used to worship at the altar. Now, with the outbreak of the pandemic, they were to celebrate with exhausted rituals. This left the Sabbath freely. During the day, the community frittered the wealth of the harvest on to the products of the forest.

Now, the Hamster women had to maintain a decent appearance. They walked with tanners, long-limbed, and their long mouths. Their eyes, and their wigs, were decorated with many flowers and butterflies. At home they now wore shoes, if they were not already covered with the raw flesh of the nearest boar.

Their time of birth made them significant, more than any other time. They were present at the foal or the mating rite, which was attended by more men than women. They were part of the society, invisible to the lunar world, but they made it felt their presence there was an acknowledgment of their presence.

All day long, the outer world made its own heat, and within the abbey the infernal fires raged. All day long, the infernal fires glared from the roofs. The flames cracked the ceiling, and the carpets and the tables fell over the abbey like impenetrable snow. Every night the infernal smoke surled the monks’ souls.

On the seventh day, the old book on the Cabala began to tremble. Its yellow covers were tinged with light, and had rained down from the roofs, raising the roof of the world. On the eighth day, a gloomy clouded the parched jungle.

As the evil vapours of the heat rose in waves from the inferno, the heat itself seemed to promise this promised rain. It was a silent rain, falling happily on the world like a curtain of fire. Thereafter, the sun was as gentle as a little child’s finger. A few hours after the heat began to blow, a storm burst from the mountains like a yellow flame.


Editor’s Notes

Written by AI, using my multi-temp script, and using my postmodern fiction model, which is a fine-tuning of gpt-2 774M at around 290,000 iterations currently. Chosen from among the other recently generated stories by me, a human.


“bird’s eye view”

Came from one of these places, which the script chose at random from a list of phrases:


Deleted orphan fragment before first sentence. Deleted orphan fragment after last sentence. Added paragraph breaks for formatting.


Title was human-derived by me from the generated text

Plagiarism Checked

Plagiarism checked with Plagiarism-Basic against the dataset

GPT-2 Settings
  "return_as_list": true,
  "length": 500,
  "top_k": 80,
  "top_p": 0.9,
  "truncate": "<|endoftext|>",
  "nsamples": 1,
  "run_name": "model-postmodern-774M-run1",
  "prefix": "bird's eye view",
  "temperature": 0.8999999999999999