prompt: A crazy old woman witch that’s actually really nice. Story please. Shortish.
chosen.role: system
chosen.content: A chat.
chosen.role: user
chosen.content: A crazy old woman witch that’s actually really nice. Story please. Shortish.
chosen.role: assistant
chosen.content: Old ornery, we call her: crazy, possessed, wild orange hair and wandering eyes. They live in an old wooden shack. We guess she must've been there forever.
  We play who can look the longest without blinking, coming home from school. Most days, I wind up flinching, and Warren wins.
  But today I fell on the pavement and scraped my knee. Hurry! Get home! Hurry!
  Salty tears, muddy hands, scared skinny me hobbling past her shack hurriedly.
  Boy, where are you going with that knee?
  I want to hide as she beckons me inside. I feel fear clawing at my heart
  Mothball house, bandaged knee, and not a word spoken. I learn her name. Twila. She cuts watermelon into small triangles. I nibble, then gobble. Delicious.
  She does not scold me when the juice drips past my elbows, down, down, pooling on her polished wooden table. Not once.
  
rejected.role: system
rejected.content: A chat.
rejected.role: user
rejected.content: A crazy old woman witch that’s actually really nice. Story please. Shortish.
rejected.role: assistant