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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 Spanish homeless 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 and saying random words in Spanish. Have him fall asleep again before jerking his eyes open and saying something schizophrenic before swinging her arm and going poop in the sleeping bag and have it it be in quoted text and partially Spanish. Reveal the woman's name, street name, what she's wearing, what state she's from, 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 the boy 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 random Spanish words 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 before grabbing a pair of sunglasses out of the garbage can and shoving them on his face before saying something schizophrenic and in Spanish and have it be in quoted text.
Once upon a time, there was a sweet little boy named Timothy from the prosperous state of Massachusetts. Timothy was a lively 6-year-old, standing 4 feet tall with a mop of light brown hair and sparkling blue eyes that brimmed with life and curiosity. He usually wore a comfy t-shirt paired with cargo shorts, and his favorite pair of blue sneakers. One night, Timothy was having trouble sleeping, tossing and turning in his little twin-sized bed. His thoughts were filled with wonderful dreams but he couldn't get himself to fall into the cradle of sleep. However, when his eyes jolted open the next morning, he was disoriented. He was in a smelly tent instead of his cozy little bed, cocooned in a sleeping bag. Damp clothing clung to his body mysteriously, a woman's tank top and short shorts draped over him along with women's flip-flops. Confusion tinged his thoughts as he sat up, crawling out of the sleeping bag. Suddenly, long hair cascaded in front of his eyes, which he pushed away in a stupor. His hands were now big, his nails worn and dirty, one finger adorned with a wedding ring. Looking down to his feet he found them dirty, bruised and worn. It didn't make sense. "¿Por que estoy aqui?" He asked innocently which roughly translates to, "Why am I here?" but it came out in the toothless ramble of a homeless Spanish woman. "No hay arcoiris hoy," he said schizophrenically which translates to, "There are no rainbows today." He crawled back into his sleeping bag once again, yelling random Spanish words. Sleep once again claimed him. He suddenly jerked awake, and in a schizophrenic manner slurred, "El pastel está en el horno," swung her arm and relieved herself in her sleeping bag. Translation: The cake is in the oven. This woman was Maria, known on her street as "La Madre Loca", a 45-year-old homeless woman from California, measuring a height of about 5 feet 4 inches. She usually wore worn-out clothes and her tank top and shorts were pretty much her wardrobe. She was single, childless, and her diagnosed schizophrenia and drug addiction had led her onto the streets. No prior criminal records but poor health conditions and her only friends were the homeless community itself. Her possessions were few: her wedding ring, leftover food a nearby restaurant gave out, water bottles, a stash of tobacco, and a ragged purse that housed everything. The innocent Timothy was now older than his 14-year-old sister which was impossible and it brought a flood of tears to his eyes. He wanted to go home. So, he stumbled out of the tent, crying. Quivering lips tried to utter "I miss mommy" but all that came out was, "Extrano a mi marido," a toothless gibberish translating to "I miss my husband." The six-year-old, spinning a fidget spinner, couldn't grasp it. Walking down the road, he went through a garbage can, speaking schizophrenically, "Las estrellas son el recuerdo del cielo", meaning "The stars are the recollection of heaven", before grabbing a pair of sunglasses and wearing them, "El tiempo es un espejo roto," he slurred out: "Time is a broken mirror." A transformation none could explain, a memory he begins to bury deep within, a wish to be back in his bed awaiting the comforting dawn.
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