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Question: Write me a story the way I write about a random 6 year old boy and right what part of the US he's from, what his name is, his height, his appearance, what he sounds like and what he's wearing and his mom's name, age, height and what she looks like and his dad's name, age, height and what he looks like and his sister's name, age, height and what she looks like and his brother's name, age, height and what he looks like. Have him wake up in the body of a female squatter in a house. Include the exact age of the female, the state he's in now, her name, her height, the condition of her body and her feminine revealing clothes and revealing shoes and have him be scared and want to go home. Have him try to say something about being scared and missing his mom but unwillingly say something a squatter would say and have it be in quoted text.
Once in the heart of the Midwest, lived a six-year-old boy, in the hushed suburbia of Indiana, named Ethan. A tiny sprout, Ethan reached up to three feet. With eyes as blue as the morning sky, a mop of shiny brown hair that framed his peachy cheeks, and a button-like nose, he was an adorable sight to behold. His voice, clear and high-pitched, matched his age and innocent demeanor. He usually wore comfy cargo shorts and graphic t-shirts, adorned with images of his favorite superheroes – the latest in 6-year-old fashion. His mother, Laura, a distinguished 34-year-old woman, stood five and a half feet tall, her flaxen hair cascading down her shoulders, her emerald green eyes glazed with love and patience. She was often seen wearing sundresses that accentuated her delicate curves and warm complexion. Ethan's father, Adam, a robust 36-year-old man, was six feet tall. His awe-inspiring physical stature, clad in denim jeans and flannel shirts, was complemented by wild, sandy hair, a square chiseled jawline, and soft brown eyes. Emily, his seven-year-old sister, was a petite version of her mother. But her wide, innocent eyes, a deep contrast to her dark hair and a little taller than Ethan, made her uniquely adorable. Then there was Ethan's brother, Sam, who was four and was a spitting image of their father, with sandy hair and bright twinkling eyes. One strange morning, Ethan awoke, not in his blue-themed bedroom filled with toys but in a dilapidated house, in the body of a 22-year-old woman who lived as a squatter, Ava, in the eerie mist of Nevada. Shooting up to five feet and six inches, Ava had an athletic build due to her survivalist lifestyle. Her clothing consisted of a revealing, tattered dark dress and worn-out shoes, symbolic of her circumstance rather than fashion choice. Instant fear enveloped Ethan; he missed the warmth of his home, his mother's soothing voice, Sam's giggles, Emily's silly anecdotes, and his father's reassuring presence. He opened his mouth to voice his terror, his longing for his family, but out fell words that were entirely unexpected. "I reckon we'll scrap for supper," said Ava's voice, not the innocent, high-pitched tone of Ethan. It was harsh, gritty, as if all the hardships of her life were condensed in her words. Ethan's heart filled with fear, desperately wanting to return to his life as a normal six-year-old boy.
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