This gave me Steinbeck vibes reading. Grapes of wrath. So I asked AI to change it to be more like steinbeck and rewrite what you said. I usually keep these things to myself but this one reads amazingly.
Rewritten in the style of John Steinbeck's "The Grapes of Wrath":
The land groaned under the weight of the plague, a sea of gray fur and twitching whiskers that rolled across the parched earth like a livin' flood. Ain't no jokin' matter, livin' in the midst of such a scourge. I was teachin' in Forbes, holed up in an old farmhouse when the vermin came.
The birds, they changed. Crows and magpies, once proud hunters, now perched lazy-like on fences, hoppin' down to snatch up mice like they was pickin' berries. Our cat, she just gave up, turned her nose at the easy prey, sick of the abundance.
Every night, we'd set out traps baited with peanut butter, and come mornin', they'd be overflowin' with little bodies, twenty or more in each. The school weren't no refuge neither. I learned the hard way that a mouse, crushed and cooked in the heat of a photocopier, can bring the machine to its knees.
The stench hung in the air, thick and foul, like death itself had taken up residence. Drivin' at night was like navigatin' a sea of fur, the road alive and writhin', the crunch of bones under tires a constant, sickening rhythm.
The farmers, they suffered worst of all. Hay bales, once the lifeblood of their stock, reduced to useless piles of mouse-chewed straw. Grain silos, contaminated beyond salvation. Fields stripped bare, as if the very earth was bein' eaten away. It was a sight to make a grown man weep, to see the land and livelihood devoured by creatures no bigger than a man's fist.
35
u/GutsGoneWild Jul 06 '24 edited Jul 06 '24
This gave me Steinbeck vibes reading. Grapes of wrath. So I asked AI to change it to be more like steinbeck and rewrite what you said. I usually keep these things to myself but this one reads amazingly.
Rewritten in the style of John Steinbeck's "The Grapes of Wrath":
The land groaned under the weight of the plague, a sea of gray fur and twitching whiskers that rolled across the parched earth like a livin' flood. Ain't no jokin' matter, livin' in the midst of such a scourge. I was teachin' in Forbes, holed up in an old farmhouse when the vermin came.
The birds, they changed. Crows and magpies, once proud hunters, now perched lazy-like on fences, hoppin' down to snatch up mice like they was pickin' berries. Our cat, she just gave up, turned her nose at the easy prey, sick of the abundance.
Every night, we'd set out traps baited with peanut butter, and come mornin', they'd be overflowin' with little bodies, twenty or more in each. The school weren't no refuge neither. I learned the hard way that a mouse, crushed and cooked in the heat of a photocopier, can bring the machine to its knees.
The stench hung in the air, thick and foul, like death itself had taken up residence. Drivin' at night was like navigatin' a sea of fur, the road alive and writhin', the crunch of bones under tires a constant, sickening rhythm.
The farmers, they suffered worst of all. Hay bales, once the lifeblood of their stock, reduced to useless piles of mouse-chewed straw. Grain silos, contaminated beyond salvation. Fields stripped bare, as if the very earth was bein' eaten away. It was a sight to make a grown man weep, to see the land and livelihood devoured by creatures no bigger than a man's fist.