I have been recently working with a new artificial intelligence (AI) chatbot and I asked it to rewrite my story of my older brother falling a tree on top of me.   Here is what it came up with:  

ChatGPT AI using Mark Twain's writing style:

Once upon a time, when I was a spry young lad of 11, my elder brother Terry asked for my help in felling a dead tree that still stood next to our abode. This elm tree had been ailing for some years and its trunk was rotting away, posing a threat to our humble abode. I must confess, the prospect of seeing a towering tree come crashing down was quite intriguing, so I obliged my brother's request.

Terry, being a man of action, surmised that the front of our trusty 1949 Ford 8N tractor would suffice in pushing the tree down. I stood at a safe distance in the yard, watching intently as Terry made several valiant attempts to bring the tree down. Alas, it was all for naught as the tractor lacked the necessary traction to accomplish this Herculean task.

With grit and determination, Terry instructed me to retrieve a log chain from our barn so he could pull the tree down. Being the dutiful younger brother, I set off to do his bidding. But little did I know what fate had in store for me.
After scouring the barn for what seemed like an eternity, I finally laid eyes on the behemoth log chain. It was a whopping 24 feet long and weighed a hefty 40 pounds. As a young lad of my stature, carrying such a weighty burden was no mean feat. I hoisted the chain onto my shoulder and dragged the rest of it behind me as I made my way to the tree, a good 50 yards away.

As I approached the tree, I was suddenly seized by terror as Terry bellowed "timber" and the massive 30-foot tree began its descent, hurtling towards me. I tried to run, but with the weight of the chain bearing down on me, I was unable to move quickly enough. The tree crashed down on me, pinning me to the ground with its branches.

I cried out in pain and agony, tears streaming down my face. But to my brother's callous delight, I was not grievously injured, at least not in the eyes of a farm boy. No bones were broken, and I was not bleeding profusely, so all signs pointed to a speedy recovery. Terry chuckled heartily at my plight and remarked, "Didn't you see I was pushing the tree in your direction?"

But justice would not be denied, for I knew my mother would come to my rescue. I cried out for her in my most desperate tone, hoping against hope that she would make things right. But to my dismay, when she emerged from the house and saw me lying there, her first words were not what I had expected.

Rather than admonish Terry for his reckless actions, she merely cautioned him to be more careful in the future. I was dumbfounded. Didn't she see what had happened to me? I was almost crushed to death by a tree, and all she could say was "be careful"? It was an injustice that I could not bear.

Saddened and sore, I retreated to the house to lick my wounds, nursing my bruised ego and grudge against Terry for the rest of the day. But such is life in the countryside, where justice can be a fickle mistress, and sometimes the only recourse is to suffer in silence.

Compare the above Mark Twain theme to the story I wrote earlier below.

Tom Pearson's style of the story

When I was 11 my older brother Terry asked me to help him pull down a dead tree at the side of our house that was still standing.  The elm tree had been dying for a few years and was rotting in the trunk.  I thought it would be interesting seeing it go down, so I followed.  Terry thought he could just push the tree down with the front of the 1949 Ford 8N tractor.
I stood in the yard at a distance and watched. After several tries the tractor could not get enough traction so he asked me to get a log chain from the barn so he could pull it down.  As a dutiful brother I went to the barn looking for the 24 ft. chain. After looking underneath smaller chains I finally saw the mammoth “log” chain. The barn was 50 yards from the tree, and I needed to carry it there.  A 40 lbs. chain is very difficult to carry for a kid of my size, so I put some of it on my shoulder and I dragged the rest behind me to the tree.  As I approached, Terry began pushing the tree again from another direction. To my surprise I found myself with a heavy log chain wrapped around my shoulders and Terry yelling “timber”.  I looked up and saw this massive 30-foot tree falling directly for me.  I began to run, however with the chain around me I didn't move fast enough and before I took two steps it fell on me.
The branches of the tree had pinned me to the ground.  I began yelling and crying.  My brother jumped off the tractor and found me under several branches scratched and bruised but not “hurt” in the meaning that a farm boy uses.  That is, I was not bleeding profusely, I did not appear to have anything broken and I was crying.  All signs that things will be better in a few minutes.  Terry began laughing out loud as I lay under the fallen tree.  He asked me “didn’t you see I was pushing the tree in your direction?” I told him “I was pulling the chain to you and couldn’t look up”.
You wait till your dad gets home.
Terry started to laugh again and then I yelled “Mom, Mom” in the voice that all mothers know something is very wrong.   I wanted her to make things right.  My brother’s actions could not go unpunished.  I was dutifully getting a log chain for my brother, and he fell a tree on top of me.  And on top of that he didn’t even feel sorry about hurting me.  Instead, he was laughing at me.  Mom came out of the house and saw me on the ground.  I expected her to say to Terry “you wait till your dad gets home” as this can be the worst punishment that a mother can inflict on a child.  Instead, she said “Terry, what happened” I cried “he pushed the tree down on top of me and broke my back” as I was sobbing crawling out from under the tree.  Terry said, “He’s not hurt, he will be Ok”.  Mom said, “Be careful what you’re doing, or you could hurt someone”. Hurt someone! What did she think he did to me? I was wronged, almost died from a tree falling on me and all she could say is “be careful”. She didn’t even say “That is it Terry Lee Pearson, wait till your dad gets home and he will give it to you “. What an injustice.  I took my sore body and my hurt self-pride and stumbled in the house to lick my wounds still steaming about the injustice I was served.

Which one do you like better?  I thought that Mark Twain's style was more concise and did sound like Mark Twain wrote it.  Write your thoughts in the comments.