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Question: Story: Write me a story the way I type about 6 year old Lloyd watching TV downstairs. He was watching his favorite cartoon when his stomach started growling reminding him he was hungry. He looked over at the clock and realized it was midnight. His 34 year old mom Cayla hadn't come down yet which wasn't normal for her. Cayla had an alcohol problem she had been dealing with for the last 4 years and being a single mom took its toll on her further. She had striking beautiful features including her green eyes and her brown hair and often wore some really expensive and extravagant dresses and shoes and jewelry when she was sober enough to dress herself. As Lloyd slowly walked upstairs, he approached his mom's room with caution. Please have Lloyd knock on the door gently yelling for his mom to come down and make dinner. Please have Lloyd say the quote "Mommy? Are you there? I'm hungry" Please have Lloyd open the door and immediately smell the strong stench of sweat and alcohol and hear the sound of Cayla's loud snoring. Cayla was in her bed sprawled out wearing a black dress that was ripped and stained with beer and wine. Lloyd reached out and tried shaking his mom awake but she just rolled over in her bed stayed asleep. Please have Lloyd attempt to leave the bedroom only to accidentally slip his feet in a pair of black platform sandals belonging to Cayla. Please have Lloyd look down at his feet in the platforms and kick them off in disgust. Suddenly, Lloyd's feet started cracking and aging into Cayla's complete with her red nail polish. Please have Lloyd say the quote "Oh no! I'm becoming mommy? NOOOOOOOOO!" The changes accelerated as his arms and legs turned to match his mom's as he gained red polish on his fingernails. His head changing into his mom's as he gained her brown hair and her sultry green eyes and her teeth and her voice. His outfit turning into the same ripped dress his sleeping mom was currently wearing. Please have Cayla start disappearing from the bed until she evaporates into a mist completely leaving Lloyd to be the only one left in the room. Lloyd realizes he's becoming his mom's replacement causing his heart to start beating fast. His memories start shifting and changing. Please have Lloyd hope that he'll be a better Cayla than the real Cayla and not drink only to have his hopes crushed as he sees visions of himself as Cayla drinking, puking and passing out. Eventually, Lloyd is no more and Cayla is all that is left. The new Cayla looks around her bedroom. Please have Cayla have a massive hangover and be extremely confused as she grabs her head and grabs a pair of sunglasses putting them over her eyes to keep the bright light out. Cayla sits on her bed as she looks down at her ripped dress. Please have Cayla look over at her platform sandals and reach out to them putting them on her feet. Please have Cayla reach for an unopened beer and open it chugging it down before burping and puking on her bed. Cayla decided to get up and go downstairs. Please have Cayla say the quote "Really wish my damn son knew how to cook his own fucking food. That tequila ain't gonna stay down much longer" Please have Cayla puke again in the kitchen before tripping and losing both her platforms. Please have Cayla crawl towards her platform sandals putting them back on before crawling to the fridge. Please have Cayla say the quote "SON! YOU'RE GONNA NEED TO COOK YOUR OWN DAMN FOOD TONIGHT! MOMMY NEEDS SOME FUCKING SLEEP!" before passing out on the kitchen floor with the fridge wide open having no memory of being 6 year old Lloyd and having no memory of wanting to be a better Cayla than the real one.
Lloyd, a six-year-old boy, was curled up on the living room couch, focused on the colourful animation dancing across the TV screen. Suddenly, a thunderous growling sound erupted from his belly. An interruption he wasn't ready for. Lloyd glanced at the large digital clock hung on the wall above the fireplace and read "12:00". His mother hadn't come downstairs which was unusual for her. Cayla, his 34-year-old mom, was a striking woman, with piercing green eyes, and lustrous brown hair. Her ravishing looks were often accentuated by the decadent dresses, shoes and jewelry she wore whenever sobriety graced her. Caring for her son single-handedly while battling alcoholism the past 4 years, had been draining her further. With a pang of worry, Lloyd decided to tiptoe up the wooden stairs. He lingered in front of her closed bedroom door. Gathering up the courage, he knocked gently on the door, "Mommy? Are you there? I'm hungry," he called out, trying not to let fear creep into his voice. Pushing the door open, waves of stale sweat and strong alcohol assaulted his senses. The sound of his mother's heavy, drunken snoring filled his ears. There lay Cayla, sprawled on her king-sized bed, in a black dress that had seen better days. The rich black fabric was torn and stained with beer and wine. Lloyd stretched his little hand out and shook his mother, attempting to wake her up. However, she merely rolled over without waking up. The room was a mess, just like Cayla. Lloyd turned around to leave the room when his feet slipped into a pair of black platform sandals that lay next to the bed. Looking down at his feet, dwarfed by the platforms, he kicked them off. Suddenly, his feet started to morph, aging and taking the shape of his mother's, down to the last details of her red nail polish. "Oh no! I'm becoming mommy? NOOOOOOOOO!" cried Lloyd, as his body quickly transformed echoing the exact features of his mother. His small frame filled out as he took on the form of the woman his mother had been until a few moments ago. In a chilling twist, his mother started to vanish, until nothing was left but Lloyd in her place. As he came to terms with his transformation, his heart pounded against his chest. As his memories started to change, he hoped, in whatever part of him that was still Lloyd, to be a better Cayla than his mom had ever been - to not succumb to alcohol. Unfortunately, the harsh visions of his future shattered his optimism. He foresaw himself as Cayla, drinking heavily, sick, and passing out, just like his mother had. In the end, Lloyd was no longer Lloyd, but Cayla. Wrestling with a massive hangover and disoriented, she groped for her sunglasses nearby, putting them on to shield her eyes from the harsh light. Sitting up on her bed, she glanced at her torn dress with the distinctive stains of a past night's debauchery. She looked at the platform sandals, slowly grabbed them and slipped them on. Reaching out shakily for an unopened beer, she cracked it open, gulped it down and retched it all up on to her bed. Rising to her unstable feet, she muttered, "Really wish my damn son knew how to cook his own fucking food. That tequila ain't gonna stay down much longer." Heading downstairs, she crossed the kitchen threshold only to retch again, this time losing her balance and her platforms in the process. "SON! YOU'RE GONNA NEED TO COOK YOUR OWN DAMN FOOD TONIGHT! MOMMY NEEDS SOME FUCKING SLEEP!" she roared before passing out on the cold kitchen floor, fridge door wide open, and no memory of ever being her once innocent 6-year-old son Lloyd.
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