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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 home alone with a note from his mother letting him know she trusts him to be home alone for the first time. Reveal the age of his mother. Have the boy get dressed in an outfit with a description of the outfit. Have the boy turn on the TV downstairs as he makes himself something to eat easy for a 6 year old to prepare. Have him accidentally slip into a random piece of clothing one of the females he lives with owns and have him slowly turn into the woman in question with his whole outfit changing into something they would wear shoes and jewelry and nail polish and lipstick and makeup and a purse included. Have him freak out at his change as he tries to change back. Have him unwillingly swear like a woman with a hangover and have it be in quoted text. Reveal the woman he turns into's name, age, height, what relation she is to him, where she's from and why her clothing was left in the house and where it was. Have him be older than other family members he's supposed to be younger than and list those family members and their ages and have it make logical sense and have the family members be appropriate ages.
Once upon a time in the heartland of Indiana, there was a spirited young boy named Lucas. Lucas was a 6-year-old boy, short for his age, standing only 3 feet 6 inches tall. He had moppy brown hair and when he smiled, two juvenile molars were revealed. Those quiet midwestern evenings saw him usually donning flannel pajamas with drawings of monsters on them which evidently unsettled him on this particular night, as he had trouble falling asleep. Just when dawn broke, his brown eyes jolted open. The house was silent. A note on the refrigerator hinted that he was home alone. It was penned by his mother, Sara, a woman full of youth and vitality at the age of 26. "I trust you. Be the responsible boy I know you are," it read. Lucas, feeling determined, exchanged his monster jammies for a small pair of faded blue jeans and a red sweater with white stripes that were characteristic of his simplicity. Feeling suddenly grown-up, he sauntered down to the living room, turned on the TV, and decided to make toast with jelly - the easiest thing he knew how to prepare. As he scooted around the house, he slipped into something unfamiliar – a silk dress! It was burgundy, spaghetti-strapped, flowing down just above his ankles, a dress owned by Aunt Ella. Aunt Ella was his mom's 30-year-old cousin from Illinois who stayed with them. The dress was left behind in a rush one day when she was late for her flight. As Lucas shifted his gaze down the descending stairs, he realized he was not only wearing Aunt Ella's dress but also her black stiletto pumps and an assortment of jewelry—a diamond necklace, emerald earrings, and a sparkling gold bracelet. His nails were beautifully manicured and colored with a ruby red polish. His lips held a matching shade and he recognized his face in his mom's coastal scents makeup palette. There was a Prada purse perched on his shoulder. Lucas blinked into the mirror. "What the -!" His voice was no longer his 6-year-old squawk but Aunt Ella's raspy, morning growl. Continued surprise awaited him when he realized he was now taller; amazingly, he stood 5 feet 6 inches, same as Aunt Ella. His charm bracelet jangling, he floundered around the house in a panic, trying to disrobe and change back into his familiar attire - his tiny red sweater and faded blue jeans. "But Ella's older than my 16-year-old sister, Alice. I'm supposed to be the youngest, not the eldest!" he protested. As he grappled with this bewildering situation, the reality began to sink in. In Aunt Ella's silk dress and stilettos, with her ruby nails and lipstick, Lucas feared the once quiet midwestern day, now filled with endless possibilities and lessons waiting to be learned.
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