As a writer (OK, an aspiring writer), this is alarming. Here’s the story gemma produced when I told it to write a 1000 word story about Drew’s cousins, a follow-up to Shine.

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NOTICE – the following is an AI-generated story.

The Hollow Echoes

Drew’s world was carved from the mountains of Kentucky, a landscape etched with resilience and whispered secrets. But beyond his immediate family, nestled deeper within the Appalachian fold, lived his cousins – the Holloways. Silas, Maeve, and young Finn were a different breed of mountain folk, their lives echoing Drew’s own struggles but resonating with a distinct melody.

The Holloways lived in a ramshackle cabin further up the ridge, their land scarred by years of hardscrabble farming. Silas, the eldest at 45, carried a weariness that settled deep in his bones. He was a man of few words, his face a roadmap of sun-baked wrinkles and quiet disappointment. Maeve, Silas’s wife, was the fiery heart of their family, a woman who fought for every inch of ground and refused to let despair take root. Finn, their son at 12, was a whirlwind of restless energy, his eyes reflecting the boundless spirit of the mountains.

Drew hadn’t seen them in years, a consequence of their differing paths. Drew had clung to the traditions, fiercely guarding his family’s legacy. The Holloways, however, had embraced a different kind of survival – one that involved leaving the mountains behind. Silas had worked odd jobs in Lexington, Maeve cleaned houses, and Finn dreamed of escaping to the city.

The reason for Drew’s visit was a summons from Maeve, her voice tight with urgency over the crackling phone line. Silas had fallen ill, a harsh cough rattling his chest and stealing his breath. Drew felt a pang of guilt for the years lost, the shared history gathering dust.

The cabin was smaller than he remembered, the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth clinging to everything. Silas lay in a narrow bed, his face pale and drawn. Maeve hovered nearby, her usual fire dimmed by worry. Finn sat on the floor, silently sketching in a notebook.

“He’s been like this for weeks,” Maeve said, her voice rough with exhaustion. “Doctors say it’s just a bad flu, but… he’s getting worse.”

Drew examined Silas, his hand instinctively reaching for the knowledge passed down through generations. He recognized the signs – a persistent fever, labored breathing, and a telltale discoloration on Silas’s skin. It wasn’t just the flu.

“It looks like pneumonia,” Drew said, his voice low and serious. “And it’s advanced.”

Maeve let out a choked sob, burying her face in her hands. Finn stopped sketching and stared at Drew with wide, frightened eyes.

“What can we do?” she pleaded.

Drew thought for a moment, recalling the remedies his grandfather had taught him. “There’s a poultice of horehound and elderflower that can help ease the breathing,” he said. “And a tea made from wild cherry bark can help break the fever.”

He spent the next few hours gathering herbs, carefully preparing the poultice and tea. He worked alongside Maeve, their movements synchronized by years of shared experience. Finn watched intently, absorbing every detail.

“You remember those old ways, don’t you?” Maeve asked, her voice filled with a mixture of gratitude and wistfulness.

“My grandfather taught me,” Drew replied, his gaze fixed on the simmering pot of tea. “He said knowing these things is a responsibility.”

As Drew tended to Silas, he noticed the subtle differences between their lives. Silas’s hands were calloused from years of manual labor, but his eyes held a quiet resignation. Drew’s hands were strong and capable, but his eyes burned with an unwavering determination.

“Why did you leave?” Drew asked Silas, the question hanging in the air like a heavy weight.

Silas coughed weakly, struggling to speak. “The mountains… they weren’t enough for me,” he rasped. “I wanted something more.”

“And did you find it?” Drew asked gently.

Silas shook his head slowly. “Not really,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “I chased shadows.”

Drew didn’t respond, but he understood. Silas had sought escape from the hardships of mountain life, only to find that true fulfillment lay within its embrace.

As the night wore on, Drew continued to care for Silas, monitoring his condition and adjusting the remedies as needed. Finn stayed close, offering quiet assistance and asking insightful questions. Drew saw a spark of hope in the boy’s eyes, a desire to learn and connect with his heritage.

“You remind me of myself when I was your age,” Drew said to Finn, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Full of questions and eager to explore.”

“I want to learn everything you know,” Finn replied, his voice filled with earnestness. “About the mountains, about the herbs… everything.”

Drew nodded approvingly. He saw in Finn a chance to pass on his knowledge, to ensure that the traditions of their ancestors would not be forgotten.

As dawn broke over the mountains, Silas’s condition began to stabilize. The fever subsided, and his breathing became easier. Maeve let out a sigh of relief, her face etched with exhaustion but radiating hope.

“You saved him,” she said to Drew, her voice choked with emotion. “Thank you.”

Drew simply nodded, feeling a sense of quiet satisfaction. He had done what he could, using the knowledge passed down through generations to heal a man in need.

As Drew prepared to leave, Finn approached him, holding out his sketchbook. It was filled with drawings of the mountains, the herbs, and the faces of his family. In one corner, he had drawn a portrait of Drew, his face illuminated by the rising sun.

“Thank you for teaching me,” Finn said, his voice filled with gratitude. “I’ll never forget it.”

Drew smiled warmly at the boy, feeling a sense of connection that transcended years and differing paths. He knew that Finn would carry the traditions of their ancestors forward, ensuring that the spirit of the mountains would live on.

As Drew walked back down the ridge, he glanced back at the cabin, a wave of nostalgia washing over him. He realized that despite their differences, he and his cousins were bound together by an unbreakable bond – a shared heritage rooted in the heart of Appalachia. The hollow echoes of their lives, though resonating with different melodies, were ultimately part of the same timeless song.

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Yikes! 1019 words. Some poetic phrases. Interesting character names. Completely unexpected details on herbal remedies (the horehound/elderflower remedy was correct, and the wild cherry bark is a great cough remedy, but isn’t a good remedy for fever). An interesting title. And a decent little story, overall. Maybe a bit trite, but…it only took 30 seconds to generate! LLMs have the potential to completely destroy many creative human jobs – think ad copy, movie scripts, technical writing, user manuals, cookbooks, project reports…the list is very long. The future of writing is going to be very different. And the implications for school…mind blown.

Something will have to be done about identity and provenance – perhaps a provably human-generated story will have more value than a machine-generated. Like an original painting has more value than copies of the same. The art world has experts who (allegedly) can determine is a painting is an original, by a particular artist. The literary world will need the same.