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Question: Story: Write me a story the way I write about a random 6 year old boy with a description of the boy's appearance, what he's wearing, what he's doing, what state he's from, his height and his name. Have him be falling asleep and having trouble sleeping. Have his eyes jolt open the next morning realizing he's not in his bed but in a smelly tent covered in a sleeping bag. Have him feel the sensation of damp clothing as he looks down to see a tank top and short shorts over him and women's flip flops. Have him be confused as to why he's wearing grown up clothes as he crawls out of the sleeping bag sitting up. Have long hair suddenly cascade in front of his eyes and have him push it away. Have him now notice his hands are big but dirty and bruised with worn nails. Have him look down to see his feet are also dirty and bruised and worn. Please have the boy say something innocent but have it come out in the toothless ramble of a woman not making any sense and have it be in quoted text. Have him say something schizophrenic and have it be in quoted text and have him crawl back into the sleeping bag yelling. Reveal the woman's name, street name, what she's wearing, how old she is, her height, what family she has, any health problems and addictions and why she's homeless and possible criminal history. Have the boy now be older than someone he is supposed to be younger than. Have him start crying and wanna go home. Have him get out of the tent feeling pain in his new female feet crying. Have him say he misses mommy but have it come out in the toothless ramble of a woman not making any sense and have it be in quoted text. Have him unwillingly say something schizophrenic about "her husband" and have it be in quoted text and have him sit down spinning a fidget spinner before walking down the road and going through a garbage can and saying something while looking around.
Once upon a time, in Tallahassee, Florida, lived a 6-year-old boy named Jimmy. Jimmy stood at a towering 3 feet and 8 inches with curly, sandy hair that cascaded to his shoulders, and bright hazel eyes as curious as a cat's. He was a respectable little gent usually clad in sturdy denim shorts and cartoon-themed t-shirts. One evening, little Jimmy was seen dozing off, wrestling with the discomfort of incipient asleepness. Yet in the morning, his eyes jolted open to an unfamiliar, crude sight. He was swathed in a ragged sleeping bag, cocooned inside a musty tent. The tent reeked of unpromising survival, whispering tales of a vagabond life. There was a strangely damp sensation on his little body. He gazed down to find oversized women's clothes over him - a faded tank top and garish short shorts, along with women's flip-flops which looked like they had covered miles of pavement. Feeling puzzled, Jimmy crawled out of the sleeping bag before a cascade of long, tangled tresses met his gaze. Swiftly, he pushed the hair away, only to be surprised by his own hands. They were bigger now, covered with dirt and marred with bruises, the nails worn from hardship. His feet bore the same testimony. "Wh...where am I?" The words slipped from his lips, but they were tethered together by the toothless mumble of a grown woman. Then, a bewildering torrent of schizophrenic mumbling spilled forth, followed by ebullient laughter, "Planting roses at midnight, aren't we, dear?" Suddenly helpless, he slipped back into the sleeping bag yelling, "No, no, no!" He wished for the uncomplicated life just a few hours ago. Jimmy was now Betty, a 52-year-old homeless lady with wild, weary eyes. She stood at 5 feet and 5 inches on a good day, dressed in finds from the local charity. Her family had long since abandoned her, and she had no kin to speak of. Betty mostly had hypertension and suffered from alcohol addiction. She led a hard life with numerous past misdemeanor charges; petty theft and vagrancy topping the long list. A pang of sadness twisted in his new, old heart. He missed his mommy, his toy cars, his bed. Tears welled up in his eyes as he shuffled out of the tent, pain radiating from his worn, womanly feet. "Now where's my high heel, boyfriend?" Again, out of sync thoughts bubbled out of his mouth, to which he hastily corrected, "No, no! I want mommy!." Stumbling, he found an old fidget spinner lying nearby, sat down, and started spinning it, a bridge to the childhood stolen from him. After playing a while, the newly old child shuffled over to a nearby garbage can, rummaging through it. "Pizza's a four-star meal, ain't it?" He mumblingly analyzed the dumpster's content, looking around for possible company, just another day in the life of tough-luck Betty.
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