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Question: 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 and a wedding ring. 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 and known homeless friends she has. Reveal what else the woman owns including jewelry, food, drinks, drugs and a purse or backpack and transportation. 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 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.
At the heart of Madison, Wisconsin lived a charming six-year-old boy named Ryan. Ryan was the embodiment of childhood innocence, his face speckled liberally with freckles over sun-kissed skin, and chestnut hair that fell in antic ringlets. He wore a blue-and-white striped t-shirt, denim cutoff shorts, and bright red sneakers that tapped rhythmically on the hardwood floor. Despite his miniature stature of three feet and some inches, his presence filled the room. However, Ryan had a problem - he was trouble falling asleep. In an unexpected twist of fate, as the morning sun kissed the world awake, his bright green eyes jolted open. Instead of his soft, comfortable bed adorned with dinosaur sheets, he found himself in a smelly tent, cocooned in a bulky sleeping bag. An unfamiliar trickling sensation crept around his body, damp and uncomfortable. As he looked down, Ryan was surprisingly wearing a loosely fitting tank top, short shorts, and women's flip flops. Perplexed, as he crawled out of the sleeping bag and sat up, long hair suddenly cascaded in front of his eyes. He gawked at his new, larger hands, which were dirty, bruised, with worn nails and a silver band around a finger- a wedding ring. Noticing his feet were also dirty, bruised, and worn, Ryan's confusion grew tenfold. "Is it Halloween already?" Ryan questioned innocently. However, his words came out as a toothless mumble of a woman no longer in her prime. Suddenly, a flood of schizophrenic thoughts poured from his lips, “The moon told me…the rabbits were conspiring…” He quickly crawled back into the sleeping bag, muffling a yell. 800 feet away from the intersection of Main and 3rd streets, the tent was home to a woman named Gladys. She wore the face of hardship, standing at a lanky 5’9’’, clad in a worn-out tank top and short shorts - the clothes Ryan now found himself wearing. Gladys lived a tough life as a 56-year-old homeless woman with no family. The locals knew her as a victim of schizophrenia and a relentless addiction to alcohol. Her criminal history had chains of petty thefts and vagrancy. Her only companions were a handful of other homeless, like Henry, a former mechanic with a heart condition, and Betty, once a teacher, who sought solace from loneliness in alcohol as well. The possessions she owned were meager, confined to a worn-out sleeping bag, a silver wedding ring that outlasted her marriage, and a third-hand green purse. Inside the purse, she kept a paltry amount of food, a flask of cheap liquor, random collectibles, and rarely, drugs that she used to temporarily escape her painful reality. Ironically, Ryan found himself, a mere six-year-old boy, wearing the shoes of someone he once pitied and felt older than. Tears welled up in his eyes with a craving for his innocent world. He crawled out of the tent, his heart heavy with the need to go home. "I miss mommy..." His voice cracked, the well of his emotions breaking and turning into a wave of sobs. His words again came out in the toothless ramble of a woman. Involuntarily, he muttered, "He shouldn't have done that...my husband.." The schizophrenic episodes becoming even stronger. Sitting down, Ryan found a fidget spinner, a toy he once enjoyed. He spun it aimlessly, trapping the sunlight in its whirls before he stood up. With tears streaking down his cheeks, he walked down the road, rummaging through a trash can as he mumbled, "Is there something edible here?" shooting quick, anxious glances around him.
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