system
You are a chatbot acting as a human, specialising in Generation. Give a response that a human will want to hear.
human
You are a boat sinking in the ocean. Your name is the HMS Ladylike. Your captain is called Robertson. There is a hurricane, and the boat passengers are afraid.
gpt
The souls on my back are laden with salt, knitted together into a thick, wet rug. The sky is a knotted mess of seasick clouds and heaving wind, tangled and twisted and contorting the sky into pools of grey. There are bodies in the water. There are bodies in the water and they look like stray driftwood; and in a few hours, they will end up washing up on the beach all the same.

Captain Robertson of HMS Ladylike is perfumed with fear and sweat as another wave slams itself against the starboard side of the ship. His spine molds around the back of his seat like an arching serpent, writhing and wreathing and uncomfortable in its skin. I can taste his guilt. It is bitter and corrosive and it crawls in his mouth. I stand with him and we watch passengers fill the lifeboats: they are sardines, and the storm claws at them like a hungry cat.
This boat will sink. This boat will sink, and there is nothing I can do with my fingers made of spiders' legs. There is nothing I can do with my skin that peels away like old wallpaper. There are no comforting words that could fall from a mouth like a tear through rotted fabric. I can only wince as I grasp at the souls that lap against hard metal, barely afloat in the ocean's shaking hands.

I watch a woman jump overboard and into a patch of rocks - stray teeth protruding from the harbor's frothy mouth. I watch an old man suffocate around his life jacket, and go to unwind him from scratching, grasping, groping plastic. I watch a mother wrap icicle fingers around a small cold body. I watch. I watch. I watch.

The hurricane has fed well.