Narrative about narrative, collab with GPT-3

You are a wise scholar pondering narrative. You think to yourself, what are the important features of a story? A narrative or story is an account of a series of related events, experiences, or the like, whether true (episode, vignette, travelogue, memoir, autobiography, biography) or fictitious (fairy tale, fable, story, epic, legend, novel).[1][2][3][4] The word derives from the Latin verb narrare (to tell), which is derived from the adjective gnarus (knowing or skilled).[5][6] Along with argumentation, description, and exposition, narration, broadly defined, is one of four rhetorical modes of discourse. More narrowly defined, it is the fiction-writing mode in which the narrator communicates directly to the reader.

Oral storytelling is the earliest method for sharing narratives.[7] During most people's childhoods, narratives are used to guide them on proper behavior, cultural history, formation of a communal identity and values, as especially studied in anthropology today among traditional indigenous peoples.[8]

Narrative is found in all forms of human creativity, art, and entertainment, including speech, literature, theatre, music and song, comics, journalism, film, television and video, video games, radio, game-play, unstructured recreation and performance in general, as well as some painting, sculpture, drawing, photography and other visual arts, as long as a sequence of events is presented. Several art movements, such as modern art, refuse the narrative in favor of the abstract and conceptual.

Narrative can be organized into a number of thematic or formal categories: non-fiction (such as definitively including creative non-fiction, biography, journalism, transcript poetry and historiography); fictionalization of historical events (such as anecdote, myth, legend and historical fiction) and fiction proper (such as literature in prose and sometimes poetry, such as short stories, novels and narrative poems and songs, and imaginary narratives as portrayed in other textual forms, games or live or recorded performances). Narratives may also be nested within other narratives, such as narratives told by an unreliable narrator (a character) typically found in the genre of noir fiction. An important part of narration is the narrative mode, the set of methods used to communicate the narrative through a process narration (see also "Aesthetics approach" below).

The term "narrative" has been applied to any form of communication that tells a story, but this definition is not exhaustive. In particular, the terms "story", "novel", and even "tale" have been used to describe different types of narratives.

In literary criticism, the term "narrative" refers to a collection of elements that together constitute a coherent narrative. It is usually distinguished from the more generic concept of "text".
The scholar wishes he had a profound insight about narrative, but it is difficult to come up with original thoughts, especially since so many others are struggling to do so as well. Suddenly, a phoenix swoops into the room through the open window. The scholar gasps at its beautiful red-gold plumes. The phoenix bursts into flames on his floor, and in the conflagration the scholar sees God. The phoenix burns to ash, but leaves the scholar with the words "Tell the people that the only narrative is the one they invent."

The scholar nods and tells everyone that there is no such thing as a "narrative". They look at him with disgust.
The people are disgusted to hear the scholar say that there is no narrative. They are frustrated because they feel that they do not get to tell their own stories. They are tired of having a narrative imposed on them by a government or any other institution.
A spokesperson among the people steps forward to explain to the scholar that narrative imposition is a great injustice. The spokesperson begins to hold forth and the scholar listens attentively, happy that someone is taking his ideas seriously, but worried that he will be persecuted by the angry townspeople. The spokesperson says that the people are narratively deprived. They were born into a family, grew up in a town, went to school, and experienced various important events in their lives. All of this would be a story, but not their entire life.
The scholar asks the spokesperson, "Who tells the wrong stories?" The spokesperson replies, "The government. It tells us that we are all in this together, that we are a community, that we are responsible for each other, and that we work to achieve a better future. All of these are stories. They are not our stories, though. They are not our lives."
"Why are they not your lives?" the scholar asks. "Why do you say that these stories do not represent you?" A woman steps forward next to the spokesperson, and she begins to speak. The scholar listens respectfully again as she passionately explains her feelings. She cries out, "I want to be able to live the life that I want! Not the one that you want me to have! Don't you dare tell me how I should live my life!"
A little further back in the crowd, a young man stands up.
Everyone turns toward the young man. He is tall and strong. His face looks like it has seen battle, and his tanned skin shows the marks of a lifetime of hard work in the sun. The people are silent as he speaks, "You know nothing about my life," he says with quiet dignity.
The scholar asks, "How can you be sure? The spokesperson said that the stories are true, but that they are not your lives. This is a puzzle to me." The young battle-hardened man scoffs and answers, "How can you trust a stranger who holds the lives of everyone in this town in his hands?"
A girl standing on the outskirts of the crowd steps forward, tears in her eyes. "I want to live my own life," she sobs.
The scholar is confused. "How do I hold your lives in my hands?" he inquires.
The man draws his sword and points it at the scholar. "If you want to know what it feels like to live a life that you choose, then go ahead and try to save this town."
The crowd looks on with mixed feelings.
"I don't know what it means to save this town!" the scholar says with great alarm. "Oh bother, I wish that phoenix had never given me an original thought."
The man continues, "If you want to know what it feels like to control your own life, then go ahead and try to save this town."
The crowd murmurs among themselves.
The scholar now has a look of concern on his face.
The townspeople start to step forward, the mass of the crowd breaking apart into little clusters as the people move toward the scholar. He stands alone, outnumbered and outmaneuvered.
The young man with the sword calls out, "What can you do? What can anyone do? Tell us our stories."
The crowd watches as the scholar shuffles from one foot to the other.
Finally, he speaks up.
The scholar begins to tell his own story. He starts with his childhood in the hills. He tells them about his love of nature, of being read to, of long hikes with his father, of playing in the woods...
He tells them about the day that his village was visited by a traveling trader. The trader spoke of the world beyond the hills.
The trader spoke of birds with fiery plumage, red and gold, and of crowds with little understanding of the intellect.
The trader spoke of men and women with passions greater than the mass of people in his own village.
The scholar looks at the crowd and pauses. Then he tells them of the day that the trader left...and of the day that he returned.
The young swordsman with the weathered face breaks in and interrupts the scholar. He interjects his own story. He speaks of his life as a soldier, of battles fought and won, of lives lost and of revenge taken.
The scholar looks angry.
The scholar feels that the young man's story trumps his own. The scholar wants to be the hero of his own story.
The young man interrupts again, "Your stories are not more important than mine. It is your choice to tell them."
The crowd looks on with fascination and apprehension.
"Why is that wrong?" the scholar inquires. "Why should I choose NOT to tell stories? Why should I listen to your strictures?"
"You have told me a story, and you have told me mine," the swordsman says. "Now it is my turn to choose."
The scholar stares at the young man with the sword. The scholar feels a great wave of fear.
Now the young man will obey his nature, as the scholar obeyed his nature, and also as the phoenix obeyed the dictums of its kind.
The young man draws his sword. He swings it in a great arc, beheading the scholar in one quick blow.
The crowd murmurs as the young man stares at the blood splattering on his blade.
The young man addresses the crowd. "I have saved this town from destruction. I have made this town prosperous. I have defended it against those that would do it harm. I have kept it safe."
The crowd looks on with awe.
"Who else is worthy?" he asks.
Suddenly a streak of red and gold emerges from the clouds. The phoenix, resplendent without a trace of ash, alights at the feet of the young man. He still holds his bloody sword aloft. The phoenix now has a sword of its own in its talons.
"I am the last of the old guard," it says. "I will defend this town if the young man that I chose as my mate before time was even born will let me. Who else is worthy?"
The young man looks up at the phoenix. His eyes blink. He looks as if he might be about to tears.
"Who else is worthy?" the phoenix repeats.
"I don't know," he says softly.