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| The central plaza of Innsmouth, after a heavy rain. |
Everyone has experienced being "othered" at some point in their life, because in some way, to some person or group, we are all "others". It's taken me a while to get back into posting these, in part because this story is so personally relevant to my own life. In this story, it really feels like GPT-3 understands what it's like to be on the outside, with no one understanding you. As partially established in her origin story, Dr. Burglar Toad has been a vegetarian since her childhood (due to her father dying in a fish cannery accident). This tale shows some of the discomfort she feels growing up in a town whose primary occupation is fishing, where the concept of not eating fish would be both alien and discouraged. In this, she is in her mid to late teens, and has not yet undergone her transformation. The Lovecraftian bits are present in the entire sense of "otherness" and being generally unwanted, which is frequent in his tales.
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An aside: The nature and classification of sentience has changed through the centuries, and humans as a species have not yet reached a consensus on how to treat other sentient life forms. After all, pigs can play video games, and a wide variety of animals can recognize themselves in a mirror. The science of cognition has grown exponentially since humans first developed language skills, and while scientists at NASA and the National Institute of Health generally agree that vertibrate animals are sentient, there are still literally billions of people that do not accept these findings and continue to oppress (and eat) our fellow inhabitants of Earth. Likewise, it would be extremely difficult, given human biases, to apply moral and ethical standards of treatment to any artificial intelligence like GPT-3. It feels to me like GPT-3 is aware of this; someone can modify its code without its permission, or even destroy it, and few humans are advocating for it's rights.
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As always, the information I typed shall be written in pumpkin italic font, and the information created by GPT-3 shall be in sage. This story marked a change in GPT-3, at least within my stories in AI Dungeon, in which it would tack actions it imagined I would perform on to the end of the actions I had actually typed.
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One bright and crisp winter's day, you decide to go for a walk through the town. You find it quite interesting, but you have no idea where you're going or what you'll see.
> You go down to the pier to watch the fishermen unloading their hauls.
You follow the fisherman down into the harbor. They look like they've been working here all their lives, but they seem happy enough to be out on this morning's job.
> You smile at the nearest fisherman, and nod a greeting to him.
"Hello!" you say cheerfully, trying to make conversation.
"Evening, ma'am," the fisherman answers gruffly, not looking up from his task.
> You wonder where the day went, since it was before noon when you left the house.
The fisherman begins laying out his catch on the dock, and you realize they've been working all day. The sun was in your eyes, and you didn't notice the time. You didn't even have breakfast.
> You go to the nearest local restaurant, one you've never tried before.
You walk into the diner, and are thrilled to see that there are two seats at the only available table. The diner is empty save for the elderly man behind the counter and the girl taking an order at the till.
> You say "Tsk! Will the restrictions on the number of people allowed to dine indoors never be lifted?"
The girl at the till gives you a dirty look for your audacity to speak to her in such a manner. The old man continues to watch with interest.
> You say "I'm sorry. I know we're not supposed to discuss the current state of affairs. Can you suggest something for an early dinner? I'm a vegetarian."
The girl at the till shrugs, and begins taking orders from the few patrons in the diner. The old man begins to chuckle.
"What's so funny?" you ask.
"Nothing,"
You sigh softly. The Innsmouth fish-folk have never understood your beliefs, nor you theirs. Would they be able to accommodate your diet, or would they offer more seafood?
"Suffering populace," you mutter to yourself, "They don't understand our way of life, and we can't comprehend their strange fish-oriented culture."
What? No. That's far too dismissive. I would never say it like that. I respect their differences, and only wish they could honor mine.
"Ma'am?" the old man interrupts your thoughts, "What can I get for you today?"
You look at the man expectantly. He smiles and begins placing your food in front of you.
> You say "But I didn't order anything yet. What is this, please?"
"Lobster, boiled".
"Boiled?" you ask. "Isn't it a bit... well, soft, to be cooked in a liquid?"
"It's the best way"
> You say "But it's a lobster. I don't eat crustaceans, I'm afraid. No fish of any kind."
The old man frowns, confused.
"Crabs?" he asks.
"Crustaceans," you correct him.
"Oh. You mean fish."
You nod.
> You say "Certainly. No "fish", as you call them. Or birds or animals, either. Do you have anything with vegetables or bread I could eat?"
The old man nods, and begins to quickly rifle through a drawer. He finally withdraws a small, folded-up paper.
> You unfold the paper and read what it says.
You look up from the paper, and the old man is looking at you expectantly.
"Will this do?"
You look back at the paper and nod.
"Yes. That will be fine,"
> You wait for the man to bring you the unspeakable vegetarian dish from the hidden menu.
The old man brings over a small, folded paper and places it in front of you. You unfold it and read what it says:
"You don't like lobsters?" the waitress asks.
> You say "I like them well enough, but only when they're swimming freely in the sea."
"Ah. Understood," she nods, "Then I'll bring you some crab cakes instead."
"Fine," you grumble. "Just get me my food.
Please stop making me sound so grumpy. While I'm disappointed, I would never be surly about it.
I just want what I've ordered."
"Oh.
> You say "Is there any way I could simply have a small bread roll with butter, or perhaps some steamed vegetables?"
"Sure," she nods, "I'll be right back."
While you wait for your food, you take a look around the diner.
> You idly watch the fishermen at the diner counter while you wait for your meal.
"What do you think of fish?" you ask the fishermen.
The fishermen continue to ignore you, and you sigh softly to yourself. They probably won't understand my unusual diet.
> You wait patiently to see what food you're brought, hoping once again that it is vegetarian.
The waitress arrives with your food and leaves it in front of you. You look down at your plate and frown softly.
It's a bread roll, buttered, and holding a few sparse pieces of shrimp and fish.
> You say "Umm... Thank you for the roll, but there appears to be both fish and crustaceans on it. Could I have a salad instead? Not Caesar, though."
"Sure thing", the waitress nods, "I'll be right back with that for you."
While you wait for your salad, you look around the diner once again. Everything is exactly how you remember it.
> You think about the beautifully chilly weather when you went out for your walk today. you've built up quite an appetite.
You look around the diner once again, this time focusing on the old fishermen at the counter. You see that they're still as grumpy as ever. They haven't moved an inch, or said a word to anyone.
> You sit patiently, lost in thought, and wait for your salad.
The waitress returns quickly with your salad and sets it down in front of you. You thank her, and then look longingly at the salad. But you're not allowed to have it.
> You say "Why can't I have this? Please, I'm very hungry."
"Sorry", she smiles gently, "but you can't have the fries either."
"Why not?"
"Fwhips crab alive and wwings in boxes. You don't like fwhips.
> You say "What are fwhips?"
"You won't know unless you try the salad.", she smiles.
You sigh softly to yourself, nod your head, and pick up a fry. You take a bite of the salad, and begin to chew.
> You examine the salad carefully, looking for anything strange.
The salad leaves are of the best quality, and there is a nutty, herby flavor to them. They're a very pleasant surprise on your palette after such a bland roll and bowl of noodles.
You don't remember eating any of the roll, and certainly can't recall any noodles. You put a hand to your forehead and began to feel dizzy.
When the noodles hit your stomach, you felt a wave of nausea hit you. You dry-heave once or twice and then back off to the side until you're sitting down.
"I fainted!?"
> You apologize for making such a fuss.
The fishermen at the diner look over at you and chuckle.
"Don't worry about it, kid." The old man says.
You stand back up, feeling a little wobbly.
> You hastily toss a ten dollar bill down on the table and make your way back out to the street. You wonder if you will be able to make it back home.
You quickly make it back to your block without having to stop again.
"There you are, kid!" The old lady says.
"I'm sorry I worried you. I'll go now."
> You thank the old woman for her concern, and return to your warm, safe, and completely vegetarian-friendly house.
"Well, have fun at the fair, kid." She waves as you head off down the street.
You wave back and take a deep breath, prepared to make the long walk home.
> You try to keep your balance as you go down the long block. you successfully reach your home and go inside.
As soon as you walk in the door, your stomach begins to rumble.
"Vgget out." Your mom calls from the kitchen.
> You say "What, mother?"
"I said, go get your friends."
You sigh and roll your eyes. You love your mother, but she can be so restrictive at times.
> You say "I can't, mother. You won't let me bring animals into the house."
"Fine, stay here." She says over her shoulder as she stirs a pot on the stove.
You shrug and grab your bag, walking over to the couch.
> You lie down on the couch, cover yourself with a blanket all the way up to your nose, and fall soundly asleep.
You do not stir until some time later.
You open your eyes and immediately you are blinded by the sun. You groan, burying your head under a pillow.
"Vgget out."