conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for a story with the title 'Bang Bang You're Dead'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Bang Bang You're Dead
  She wants to find out exactly why I did what I did. She wants to see right inside my head, and I dislike her for that reason, amongst others.
  But the people in the scene are not normal. Our mother is hurtling headlong into one of her manic phases after weeks of depression. She flits around the kitchen, unable to sit still, talking about nothing at all without stopping. Her latest idea is to keep chickens in the back garden to save on buying eggs. I don't like eggs, Jamie never eats them and Mum's allergic to feathers.
  My twin brother sits opposite me. He doesn't eat anything, he doesn't speak and he doesn't look at either Mum or me. He stares morosely at the kitchen floor, lost in a world of his own. Jamie's long ago given up on Mum and the bizarre lottery of her behaviour, the endless swings between highs and lows. They have no relationship with each other. Jamie and I were close once, but now that closeness is slipping away too. All he and I seem to do is argue. I can't rely on him like I used to. Some of the things he says frighten me.
  Our father isn't part of this happy scene. He left Mum before we were born and they divorced soon after. We've never seen him and we don't even know his name. Mum refuses to tell.
  Jamie rolls his eyes and shoots me a contemptuous stare, blaming me for encouraging Mum. But I know that the lodgers, like the chickens in the back garden, will never happen. By the time Mum gets around to doing anything about it, she'll probably be depressed again and lie in bed for weeks.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me two more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I try to slide my fingers into the narrow gap at the bottom of the window to push it upwards, but it's a tight fit. So I take out the small chisel. The end of the chisel slides smoothly into the gap, fitting perfectly.
  Then I push on the handle of the chisel as hard as I can and the window jerks up a little way. I drop the chisel and now my fingers will fit underneath the window and I can lever it up. I exert all my strength, and the window moves up, once, twice more. Then it sticks again and all my efforts won't move it a single centimetre.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last two paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I curl my knees tightly towards me so that I'm in the foetal position, a baby in the comforting, womb-like warmth of the bed. Then I wipe away the tears with the back of my hand; I know for sure that I am stronger now, just as Jamie wanted.
  To relax, Narinder loves reading murder mysteries and watching football (she supports Wolves); she also loves travelling and is learning Italian. She lives with her husband and their three cats in Cambridge. For more information, visit www. **narinderdhami**.com.