The story of a 6 year old Lloyd who becomes mommy's replacement and has to face the flaws of his new life.

Once upon a time, on an ordinary night, 6-year-old Lloyd was engrossed with his favorite cartoon on the television in the living room. Suddenly, his stomach announced its emptiness with a grumble that broke the silence, he had forgotten about dinner. He spotted the clock which now read midnight, a bizarre time for dinner but the situation at home was anything but normal. His mother, 34-year-old Cayla, an elegant woman with striking green eyes and luscious brown hair, was unusually absent from the living area. An array of extravagant dresses, high-end shoes, and flashy jewelry were her sober tokens, which she wore beautifully when she wasn't battling her decade-long alcohol problem. The burden of being a single mother had taken a massive toll on Cayla leading to her frequent indulgence in alcohol. With a bout of courage, young Lloyd decided to ascend the dark staircase leading to his mom's bedroom. He gently rapped on the door, using the strength his tender fists could muster "Mommy? Are you there? I'm hungry," he called out softly into the silence. Pushing aside his fear, he cautiously opened the door and the stench of sweat and alcohol stung his nostrils. The symphony of his mother's deep, heavy snoring provided a macabre soundtrack to the scene. Sprawled out on her bed, Cayla lay in a ripped black dress stained with the remnants of her escape route, beer, and wine. Lloyd reached out, shaking his mom in a desperate attempt to rouse her from her intoxicated slumber, but nothing stirred her. As he turned to leave, he absentmindedly stepped into a pair of his mother's black platform sandals, and they felt like oversized boats on his small feet. His face contorted in discomfort, and he kicked them off, only to witness an unexpected phenomenon occur. "Oh no! I'm becoming mommy? NOOOOOOOOO!" He cried out in horror. His feet began aging and cracking into his mother's, the red polish on her toenails marking him. His arms and legs altered, copying his mother's form. His memories started to warp as his head morphed into his mother's, his hair turned brown, his eyes became green, and he felt the grip of her expensive black dress around him. As the transformation progressed, Cayla dematerialized from the bed until only her misty echo remained, leaving a distressed Lloyd alone in the room. Realizing he was becoming a replica of his mother, his heart pounded in his chest. An overwhelming hope rose within him, a hope that he could possibly become a better mother than Cayla; a hope that was swiftly smothered as he envisioned himself succumbing to the same vices: drinking, puking, and passing out. A strength he didn't know possessed him and he began to levitate over his mother's bed before he slowly landed in the same position Cayla was in when she was asleep. As he drifted into unconsciousness, his memories radically altered. The identity of Lloyd faded away, replaced by the persona of Cayla. The new Cayla stirred awake in the silent room, her head massively aching, matching the state of confusion and agony she was in. She gazed upon the ripped dress she was wearing, it felt oddly comforting. Then, her eyes fell on her black platform sandals. She grabbed them and clumsily slipped them on her feet. Cayla reached with trembling hands for an unopened bottle of beer and drained it, only to burp and vomit on her bed. "I love this dress so much. It's so comfortable. Really wish I was still sleeping. I don't even remember waking up," she muttered, slightly reeling from the effects of the alcohol. With a newfound resolve, Cayla decided to descend the stairs, her mind filled with blurry thoughts, "Really wish my damn son knew how to cook his own fucking food. That tequila ain't gonna stay down much longer". In the kitchen, she vomited again, tripping over her own two feet, her platforms abandoned. She clumsily crawled towards her shoes and then towards the fridge, her strength leaving her. And there she stayed, an unseemly picture sprawled out on the kitchen floor, the cold air from the open fridge mocking her, her former life as 6-year-old Lloyd forgotten along with her sober promise to be a better Cayla.