My 6 year old Taylor walked home from school for the first time all by himself. He was extremely nervous but felt determination to not let his mom or little sister down. As he walked through the cit

Once upon a time, there was a brave little 6-year-old lad named Taylor. Today was an extraordinary day for him: he was walking home alone for the very first time, with his 21-year-old mom's explicit permission. The task filled him with a gulp of nervousness, but he held his chin high. He wanted to prove he was capable, especially to his mom and young sister. As he quietly traversed the city, he happened upon a hostile scene: Jonathan, a 33-year-old man, and his wife, Angelica, a striking 31-year-old with dyed red shoulder-length hair and alluring brown eyes, in the middle of a heated argument in their car. Angelica was adorned in silver earrings, a matching necklace, red lipstick complementing her red nails, a petite shirt with a blazer draped over it, and shorts. Leather wedges enhanced her stature, and a wedding ring glinted on her finger. A purse rested on her lap, but very noticeable were a black eye and bruised, twisted ankle, grim reminders of an abusive past. "Don't play with me you bitch! I'm not in the mood today!" Jonathan barked out before slamming the car door shut. In response, Angelica muttered, "Fuck you too, you asshole," under her breath before breaking into quiet sobs, as she coddled her purse. Noticing the young Taylor, she beckoned, "Young man? Can you come here for a moment?" With a glance at his small Batman's wristwatch, Taylor answered, "Um yes? Mommy needs me home soon. I promised her." Angelica looked at him and whispered, "I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore," before reaching out and grabbed Taylor's small hands. Suddenly Taylor felt a shock course through his body; his vision blurred, and just as quickly as it came, the world was swallowed by darkness. When Taylor opened his eyes, all was not as it had been a few moments ago. His head spun in confusion as an eye refused to open; hair, no longer short and blond but long and fiery red, fell across his face. He looked down and recoiled at the sight of the blazer, the petite shirt, the short shorts, the leather wedges, a bag in his grip, and most concerning of all, the unfamiliar chest that he now possessed. Taking slow, shaky steps towards the car's rearview mirror, he confirmed his fearful suspicion — he was in Angelica's body. His red painted nails were a stark contrast against the pale skin, and despite the black eye, his reflection still held remnants of his childlike innocence, even with Angelica's mature eyes. Panic ensued; he clumsily got out of the car, struggling with the wedges and the new weight on his chest. He stumbled on the twisted ankle he hadn't known about, causing him to quicken his pace into more of a flee. Suddenly, he heard a man's voice shouting in his direction — a sprint morphed into a run. In the haste, Taylor tumbled down a large ditch. Pain rocketed through Angelica's already twisted ankle. Overwhelmed, he lay there in the bottom of the ditch, the reality of his predicament finally sinking in, his small body seized with the fear of being trapped in a woman's body. Suddenly, he saw his childhood frame making its way down the ditch, climbing with unspoiled innocence. Desperate, he pleaded with Angelica, who was in his body, to swap back. She rejected his pleas, vowing to erase his memories of his good life, before she clambered out of the ditch. Feeling his consciousness slipping, Taylor watched in resignation as his past slowly faded into oblivion, overwritten by the somber realities of Angelica's life. Unfamiliar memories of domestic violence, endless arguments, and a shattered spirit echoed in his mind until he could no longer remember being Taylor. The newfound Angelica lay there for a moment, her brain thudding with an onset of a massive headache, forgetting ever being a child. As she rose, dirty and disheveled, she scrutinized her surroundings, "What the fuck? Why am I in some random ass ditch? My husband's probably so fucking pissed! I'm so in trouble when he finds me," Angelica's words came out unsteady. Sitting amidst the grass, she reluctantly slipped her wedges back on. After climbing out of the ditch, she noticed her missing wedding ring, which she hastily reclaimed. She grieved as she examined it, "Ow! My damn ankle hurts so much! Why do I keep running back to him? Better find my wedding ring before I piss off my husband even more. I'm a 31-year-old woman who can't even find enough courage to defend myself against my abusive husband." Her wedding ring back in its rightful place, Angelica trudged over to a close-by mirror, where she caught sight of herself. The juvenile innocence of Taylor was gone, and all that was left was the aged eyes of a flawed Angelica. She set to correcting her appearance, hiding the black eye and retouching her makeup, all while concealing her sorrow. As she nucleated into her reflection, she missed the child she no longer remembered being and was left to face a cruel reality of her life as Angelica, trapped in an agonizing cycle of abuse devoid of a reprieve. The tale ending on a regretful note — a child robbed of innocence and trapped in a torment he never deserved.