Writing Goes Awry

Writing Goes Awry

I’m sitting alone in my room. My thoughts are so jumbled up. I don’t know what I’m going to write about. It’s time to try out this new pair of writing gloves I got from that old man on the street. 

He told me it was the next AI device. It takes ChatGPT to the next level. No one will want to be without a pair. 

I was somewhat dubious of his claim. One, he was a stranger to me. Two, innovations usually come from young entrepreneurs, not raggedly dressed old men who can barely walk and speak with a very strange alien accent. Three, there were plenty of people on the street that just passed us by as if they didn’t even see him. I would have thought there would be a crowd around him clamoring for his gloves. 

But then he gave me an offer I chose not to refuse. He said, “These are a gift from me, no cost to you. Consider yourself a beta tester. They are one of a kind. We want to see how they work in this environment. You are a storyteller and writer, are you not?”

I mean, a free pair of writing gloves, which no one else had tried before. And I am a writer. What do I have to lose? So I agreed and took the pair. It dawned on me much later; I never mentioned that I was a storyteller and a writer to him.   How did he know that?

So here I sit in my writing cove, preparing to write. There were no instructions given to me as to how to use the gloves. After he gave them to me, he just disappeared into the crowd of people passing by. Again I should have had second thoughts at that point. 

As I said, my mind was filled with dozens of random thoughts, none of which coalesced into a single idea. I sat down at my computer and just put on the gloves to see what would happen. 

The next thing I knew, my fingers start dancing through the air in front of me. They never touched the keyboard, but there on the screen writing appeared. And it continued for about 20 minutes. The thing is, the writing appearing was not in any language I understood. Clearly, there were words, but not English. And I couldn’t stop. My fingers just kept on moving. With each movement, another stroke of the computer wrote something down. 

I wanted to stop and take the gloves off, but there was no way to do it. My fingers were moving way too fast and wouldn’t quit. 

Finally, my writing ended. My hands dropped to my sides, and the gloves fell off of my wrists. When I looked down to pick them up, they were gone. 

The writing on the screen, which I hadn’t been able to read, was also gone. In its place was the phrase – FILE TRANSFERRED.

Then my power went out, as did the power in the whole neighborhood. 

What was that all about?

It wasn’t until three days later that I got some answers…unfortunately. 

I am now sitting in a secure facility in FBI headquarters in D.C., having been questioned repeatedly about my actions regarding the massive blackout on the east coast and the successful cyber attack on secure governmental facilities that revealed top security information about not only our defenses but that of other countries that we have gathered ourselves. 

No matter how much I deny any knowledge of its cause, no one believes my story about the writing gloves. All the proof they have is that they traced it to my home computer exactly at the time I wore the gloves.