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Once upon a time, in 2021, in the heart of Texas, lived a small, sun-kissed, six-year-old boy named Joseph. Standing at 45 inches tall and weighing 48 pounds, the golden-haired, chocolate-eyed child was born in the summer heatwave of August 15, 2015. The boy was known for his mop of messy curly blonde hair and his twinkling mischievous eyes, akin to the shade of warm cocoa. His youthful mother, Amelia, was a petite 25-year-old woman standing at 5'3" tall and weighing around 135 pounds. Born on a snowy Christmas day in 1996, her thick auburn hair cascaded down to her waist and was styled in loose beach waves. Her eyes possessed the alluring color of turquoise embraced by the ocean's tides. The child's father, Ethan, a 26-year-old man now absent from their lives, was a towering 6'2" tall man who used to tip the scales at around 180 pounds. He was an Aquarius, born on February 10, 1995, and his hair was as black as the raven, slicked back in a classic cut fashion. His deep, piercing blue eyes reflected the intense mysteries of the sea. One can't forget the vivacious influence of Joseph's 23-year-old Aunt Isabella. She was a healthy 5'6" tall, weighing around 130 pounds, born amidst the spring blooms on April 6, 1998. Her brunette hair, layered and straightened, framed her olive complexion elegantly. Her enchanting hazel eyes revealed the cosmos housed within her soul. Joseph's 28-year-old uncle, Michael, who was usually neck-deep in work, was a muscular man, 5'10" tall and weighed 190 pounds. He was a Capricorn and entered this world on December 31, 1993, bringing in the New Year. The comma of his brown hair slicked back sexily enhanced the sapphire blue clarity of his eyes. Finally, we meet Joseph's loving grandmother, Bea, who was a vintage woman of 60 years, standing at 5'6", and weighing around 165 pounds. Born on January 15, 1961, her chopped blonde bob and her oceanic blue eyes bore the ageless wisdom of a woman who had lived through seasons. One fateful day as Joseph walked home alone, he traversed through the spine-chilling skeletal woods. His shoes hitherto comfortable, initiated a throbbing pain as if they were shrinking onto his feet. The discomfort intensified to a degree where young Joseph chose to remove his shoes and socks and proceed barefoot. A peculiar sight of a rolling bag caught his attention and childlike curiosity coaxed him into investigating it. Digging into the bag, he discovered it was endowed with numerous items that an elderly homeless woman might possess - lipstick smeared tissues, empty plastic bags, some crumpled aluminum foil, a tarnished old spoon, and a lighter way past its best days. A wave of unease washed over Joseph, who quoted loudly, "It's getting scary out here. I wanna go home." His words rang heavy in the stillness of the woods, only mildly disguised by his lisp – a characteristic of his innocent childishness. Reminded of his solitary predicament, Joseph decided to accelerate his pace, guiding his eyes straight ahead with a brave determination that would make his mother proud. The serenity was broken when a shaky misstep over something on the forest floor threw him off balance. Looking down, he realized he had tripped over a revolting, worn-out women's shoes – peep-toe, broad heel, and a weathered red strap encrusted with something dark and organic. In his fumbling recovery, he had slipped into those dreaded shoes. Soon, Joseph faced an unimaginable horror. His clothing evaporated from his body and disappeared entirely. His attempt to pry off the shoes was futile as something petrifying ensued – his feet began aging, morphing into a woman's feet; harshly worn-out, with skewed, sprained, and bruised toes. Panicked, he yanked off the shoes, a futile endeavor, as the transformation already set into a dreadful reality. His body started to change, deaf to his desperate pleas, "I'm gonna miss mommy and grandma so much. I didn't do anything wrong. I just wanted to go home. I don't wanna be an icky girl.” The terrified boy began a song – a comforting lullaby his mother used to sing in the engulfing darkness of the woods. He felt his memory to flush away, his voice transforming into a raspy whisper. His once-boyish frame had completely transformed into a woman's. The reflection in the woodland puddle showcased a worn and aged woman, clad in a matted, skimpy, and torn outfit. His sing-song tone morphed midway into a finished rendition of an American lullaby that segued into a rambling monologue on blues music, "I surely do love my blues..." The woman, now identifying as Myrtle, was 52 years old, standing at 5'4", and weighed around 180 pounds. Born on July 7, 1969, she had been homeless for about five years. Her roughened hands brushed nervously against her lanky, unkempt red hair. Her sallow skin stretched over her emaciated body, poorly clad in a tainted white blouse, torn brown trousers, and a moth-eaten shawl. Her glassy eyes, a faded shade of green, were always alert. She had forgotten about her previous life, now only bowing her life towards her strange utterances and wandering aimlessly near her possessions. Suddenly, a nature call forcibly interrupted her mumbling soliloquy. She unceremoniously threw her purse near a tree and relieved herself. She then pulled up her trousers, leaving the tree scarred and soiled. Paying no heed to her uncleanliness, she continued her rant, unaware of her altered reality of once being an adorable 6-year-old boy named Joseph. Thus marked the end of an unusual adventure in the heart of the Texas woods, silently bearing witness to an obscure and unfortunate transformation under the looming shadows of its ancient trees.