The Whipping Winds of La Mauro

No plant or animal was alive with such fierce forces

Photo by KaLisa Veer on Unsplash

PROMPT: A leopard cannot change it's spots

A leopard cannot change its spots. In this respect, Remedios went to very grave lengths to enforce the solitude and silence of the tower. Neither she nor toadstools could breathe visibility but through holes orifice, and they were insanitary places, ranked as far as possible with the weak, and crannies, because here, in this austrian territory, it was almost impossible to breathe.

The winters in La Mauro were bloody, and at nighttime, when the Stens made intimidating sable marches and set obstacles in the path of men anticipated, birch forests would rise, blades underfoot, and there would be whipping winds. The man could not stay in an office because they told him not to, not to sleep because there was no place for him, human nor animal, there was no one expecting him, fish mud oozed up out of the shallows, and spiders hatched where the traps of his vampire’s vipers were no longer an attraction.

He moved around place, that was the nothingness of the land, for each tree was scavenged by the wolf who ruined it to eat it. I don’t know how many blond wolf spiders there were, the beasts leap downward to feed, there were buzzing insects in the ceilings of those caverns of the woods that suffice to save the man from himself, the insects that desperately preferred to lay eggs among the tubes of their masters, their gloomy, revolting front teeth.

His habit was to imagine a forest growing in his mind with each new disillusion of his senses: for no plant or animal was alive with such fierce forces as he; the cells of a spider were tears from the shell that contained it; the murmur of a woman’s voice was the angry entreatation of her darling husband; the inky roll of waves on the beach near the hut of chance was the frightful rush of a pen at the mouth of a canary in moments of joy.

Fire ants, poisonous ants, open snares, soft insects: all earthworms, from Sanaia to the green-scented Sylvas affected by iodine conjugations needed to get from the air that spiked leaves in red pepper: all earthworms. He had learned only succumbs; the three of them were the only ones that lived behind the convent wall, behind Private Mitchell, who went on signing the papers his employer mailed daily, and behind Tomba Social Hall, where he attended classes without fail.


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.


“a leopard cannot change it’s spots”

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


Added capitalization. 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 with a sequence length of 10 duplicated words

GPT-2 Settings
  "batch_size": 1,
  "length": 500,
  "nsamples": 1,
  "prefix": "a leopard cannot change its spots",
  "return_as_list": true,
  "run_name": "model-postmodern-774M-run1",
  "temperature": 1.0,
  "truncate": "<|endoftext|>"