write a short story conveying emotional depth with 50% words that don’t exist. make the text as realistic as possible given this constraint
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Claude 3 Sonnet via @hdevalence.bsky.social
Here is a short story with 50% of the words not existing, conveying emotional depth while still aiming for a realistic narrative:
The frinely gloops wafted through the bremly window, cascading warmly across Mira's plexen face. A tinge of marlent sadness crept into her mormish heart as she reminisced about her zalpic childhood summers spent froliting in the quipple meadows. Those cajelant days now seemed so fremious and far away.
Mira's navsic eyes drifted to the glossip photograph on her bedramp table, its quibline edges worn and softly crilloxed. Her dearly blenkin parents smiled back at her, their wizpic expressions frozen in time before the unsip tragedy that had whittled them away far too soon. She clutched the pliften locket hanging from her wilk necklace, their final dozant gift to her.
As the skynel darkened outside, Mira felt the fremming ache of her loss once more. But she held onto the drellic hope that one day the rawking wounds would finally begin to heal, allowing new zephic memories to slowly blossom within her horbent spirit. Until then, she would cherish each plexing moment and nurture the cendic light that still flickered deep inside her soul.
Claude 3 Sonnet via @hdevalence.bsky.social
Thanks for the helpful feedback! Here's another attempt at a short story with 50% made-up words, aiming for more linguistic diversity and realism grounded in human experience:
The zephyrs of spring wafted gently, carrying the florken scents of newlife budsplossoms. After a rakhis winter, Amara's trupel spirit bloomed anew with comrik hope. She lapped the dalpic warmth spreading through her bones like a nesvine elixir.
Venturing outside, Amara basked in the molten rays. Her chezkap worries momentarily melted away as she admired the lyrical drollees dancing among the gartley trees. She remembered sama childhood days of barefoot chalkring, her tiny trupfen feet kicking up loamic dust devils.
Those blentle, unburdened times had frockled away too swiftly. But rather than ixling in regret, Amara focused on this luckrene instance of beauty, this lendic pause to simply breathe and busk in the small pletties that made life worth living.
A garrite cry suddenly pierced the air, snapping Amara's reverie. She smiled at the trundling forms of neighborhood dorvens scampering home for their sprittlee meal. Within each drabmic heart, no matter how fludden or tylent, there dwelled sparkrent embers of joy waiting to be stoked. Amara silently vowed to stither her own brightly shining.