Futuristic Girl in Diner with Cybernetic Glove and Food

Memory Made Of Flesh

172

Artist
Isobel
DDG Model
ChatGPT Full
Mode
Pro
Access
Public
Created
2w ago
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- Info
  Memory Made Of Flesh
  
  Model: ChatGPT (Pro) Full
  
  Size: 3520 X 1980 (6.97 MP)
  
  Used settings:
  
  Prompt: A rich, atmospheric oil painting in painterly sci-fi realism, with visible, expressive brushstrokes and a soft, dreamlike quality. The scene takes place inside a retro-futuristic, gritty urban diner at early dawn on a rainy summer morning. Rain streaks down the large window beside a booth, catching neon reflections and muted city lights in tones of steel blue, amber, and faded rose. Seated alone at the booth is a young woman, quiet and withdrawn. She wears jeans, a high-collared shirt, and a light raincoat, damp from the rain. Her long dark auburn hair falls loosely around her face. Her blue-gray eyes are lowered, focused inward rather than on the room. Her posture conveys emotional suspension — not panic, but heaviness. On the table in front of her lies a smartphone, softly glowing. Her right hand is robotic, metallic and finely articulated, resting on the screen. The finger has stopped mid-typing, frozen by emotion rather than hesitation to send. The message on the phone itself is partially visible but not the focus. Next to the phone is a plate of untouched breakfast — sunny-side-up eggs, toast, bacon — and a steaming mug of coffee. Beside the plate, clearly visible and intentionally placed, is a closed, rigid take-out food container, clean and modern, signaling that the food is meant to be packed rather than eaten. A waitress, mid-40s, stands close to the table, holding a coffee pot. Her face is fully visible. She is looking directly at the girl’s robotic hand, her expression marked by quiet unease and human discomfort, not fear — the subtle reaction of someone noticing something that does not fully belong. In the rain-streaked window, a partial reflection of the girl’s face appears — only one side, softened and painterly, not mirror-sharp. Embedded within the reflection, as if carried by light and rain rather than physically written, a fragmented but readable line of text appears, softly luminous and unmistakable: “Father… I had all my memories—” ***do not misspell words*** The word “memories” is clearly legible, strongly implying memories, even as the sentence breaks apart into rain, light, and reflection. The text feels like a memory echo, not a literal projection — poetic, intentional, and emotionally grounded. The diner around them is otherwise empty. The atmosphere is hushed, intimate, unresolved. This is not a moment of action, but of identity — a pause between who she was, who she is, and who she may return to. Style tags: painterly sci-fi realism, atmospheric oil painting, visible brushstrokes, dreamlike narrative, emotional stillness, retro-futuristic diner, rainy dawn, reflective symbolism, quiet human tension
  
  Using base image: No
  
  Aspect Ratio: landscape_wide
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Prompt: A rich, atmospheric oil painting in painterly sci-fi realism, with visible, expressive brushstrokes and a soft, dreamlike quality. The scene takes place inside a retro-futuristic, gritty urban diner at early dawn on a rainy summer morning. Rain streaks down the large window beside a booth, catching neon reflections and muted city lights in tones of steel blue, amber, and faded rose. Seated alone at the booth is a young woman, quiet and withdrawn. She wears jeans, a high-collared shirt, and a light raincoat, damp from the rain. Her long dark auburn hair falls loosely around her face. Her blue-gray eyes are lowered, focused inward rather than on the room. Her posture conveys emotional suspension — not panic, but heaviness. On the table in front of her lies a smartphone, softly glowing. Her right hand is robotic, metallic and finely articulated, resting on the screen. The finger has stopped mid-typing, frozen by emotion rather than hesitation to send. The message on the phone itself is partially visible but not the focus. Next to the phone is a plate of untouched breakfast — sunny-side-up eggs, toast, bacon — and a steaming mug of coffee. Beside the plate, clearly visible and intentionally placed, is a closed, rigid take-out food container, clean and modern, signaling that the food is meant to be packed rather than eaten. A waitress, mid-40s, stands close to the table, holding a coffee pot. Her face is fully visible. She is looking directly at the girl’s robotic hand, her expression marked by quiet unease and human discomfort, not fear — the subtle reaction of someone noticing something that does not fully belong. In the rain-streaked window, a partial reflection of the girl’s face appears — only one side, softened and painterly, not mirror-sharp. Embedded within the reflection, as if carried by light and rain rather than physically written, a fragmented but readable line of text appears, softly luminous and unmistakable: “Father… I had all my memories—” ***do not misspell words*** The word “memories” is clearly legible, strongly implying memories, even as the sentence breaks apart into rain, light, and reflection. The text feels like a memory echo, not a literal projection — poetic, intentional, and emotionally grounded. The diner around them is otherwise empty. The atmosphere is hushed, intimate, unresolved. This is not a moment of action, but of identity — a pause between who she was, who she is, and who she may return to. Style tags: painterly sci-fi realism, atmospheric oil painting, visible brushstrokes, dreamlike narrative, emotional stillness, retro-futuristic diner, rainy dawn, reflective symbolism, quiet human tension

Prompt

A rich, atmospheric oil painting in painterly sci-fi realism, with visible, expressive brushstrokes and a soft, dreamlike quality. The scene takes place inside a retro-futuristic, gritty urban diner at early dawn on a rainy summer morning. Rain streaks down the large window beside a booth, catching neon reflections and muted city lights in tones of steel blue, amber, and faded rose. Seated alone at the booth is a young woman, quiet and withdrawn. She wears jeans, a high-collared shirt, and a light raincoat, damp from the rain. Her long dark auburn hair falls loosely around her face. Her blue-gray eyes are lowered, focused inward rather than on the room. Her posture conveys emotional suspension — not panic, but heaviness. On the table in front of her lies a smartphone, softly glowing. Her right hand is robotic, metallic and finely articulated, resting on the screen. The finger has stopped mid-typing, frozen by emotion rather than hesitation to send. The message on the phone itself is partially visible but not the focus. Next to the phone is a plate of untouched breakfast — sunny-side-up eggs, toast, bacon — and a steaming mug of coffee. Beside the plate, clearly visible and intentionally placed, is a closed, rigid take-out food container, clean and modern, signaling that the food is meant to be packed rather than eaten. A waitress, mid-40s, stands close to the table, holding a coffee pot. Her face is fully visible. She is looking directly at the girl’s robotic hand, her expression marked by quiet unease and human discomfort, not fear — the subtle reaction of someone noticing something that does not fully belong. In the rain-streaked window, a partial reflection of the girl’s face appears — only one side, softened and painterly, not mirror-sharp. Embedded within the reflection, as if carried by light and rain rather than physically written, a fragmented but readable line of text appears, softly luminous and unmistakable: “Father… I had all my memories—” ***do not misspell words*** The word “memories” is clearly legible, strongly implying memories, even as the sentence breaks apart into rain, light, and reflection. The text feels like a memory echo, not a literal projection — poetic, intentional, and emotionally grounded. The diner around them is otherwise empty. The atmosphere is hushed, intimate, unresolved. This is not a moment of action, but of identity — a pause between who she was, who she is, and who she may return to. Style tags: painterly sci-fi realism, atmospheric oil painting, visible brushstrokes, dreamlike narrative, emotional stillness, retro-futuristic diner, rainy dawn, reflective symbolism, quiet human tension

More about Memory Made Of Flesh

Imago Dei does not attempt to define the soul, but questions where humanity looks for it when memory survives the body.

The story explores a near future where humanity no longer asks whether machines can think, but whether memory itself is sacred. After the death of his daughter, a scientist reconstructs her from DNA and remembered experience — an act both creative and heretical. What returns is neither human nor machine, but something shaped by grief, devotion, and memory. The central question of the serie becomes unavoidable: if humans are made in God's image, where does that image reside when memory survives the body?

Serie: AI Future
© Isobel Blundell
All original characters, story, and narrative concepts.