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Question: Story: Write me a story the way I type about a 6 year old boy with a description of the boy's name, appearance, what state he's from, what he looks like, what he sounds like, and what he's wearing as he goes to bed. Have him wake up the next morning somewhere random in another state in the body of a woman sleeping on the couch with her boyfriend or husband while watching TV with a description of what the state the boy wakes up in, the name of the woman, her age, what she looks like, have him be older than someone he used to be younger than, describe the outfit she fell asleep in and shoes she woke up wearing and accessories and possibly tattoos and possibly makeup and possibly lipstick and possibly nail polish. Please have the boy unwillingly say something to the man he wakes up next to about his outfit, about sleeping and about the man only the woman would say. The swap is permanent. The boy misses his family.
Once upon a time, there lived a 6-year-old boy named Max, hailing from the earthy state of Oklahoma. Max had radiant blue eyes, a tuft of blonde hair that shone like gold in the sun, and freckles scattered across his nose like a sprinkling of cocoa powder. He was quite small for his age, with a soft, cherubic voice that held a hint of persistent curiosity. Every night, he would go to bed in his polka dot pyjamas, a pair of tiny mismatched socks on his feet, his teddy bear clutched tightly in his arms. One morning, Max woke up to find himself not in his familiar bedroom but somewhere entirely different. He was lying on a plush sofa, a running television painting fluttery shadows on the unfamiliar walls. Blinking in surprise, Max realised he was not alone. Beside him, a man had fallen asleep, his snore somewhat resembling the hoarse chorus of frogs. In his sudden, bewildering reality, Max found himself to be now in the body of a woman, Isabella, residing in the far-off state of New York. Isabella was in her late twenties, with charcoal black hair, flawless olive skin, and emerald green eyes that held an untamed fire. He was astoundingly older now, even more so than his elder sister, Lucy. Isabella, he noticed, fell asleep in a burgundy velvet nightgown, her feet tucked into fluffy, white slippers. Interlacing with her hair, he could see multiple silver hoop earrings shining under the television's flicker. On her left bicep, an elaborate tattoo of a phoenix stood out starkly, it's wings spread wide in flight. Her nails were meticulously painted a glossy ebony and her lips bore the remnants of worn out ruby-red lipstick, giving them a faintly rosy stain. Eyeing the man beside him warily, Max heard a voice that wasn't his own say, "Honey, you snore louder than a broken chainsaw, and it’s quite hard to sleep through that, you know." The man, who he gathered must be Isabella's partner, blinked awake and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess I'll have to stick to putting in earplugs, huh?" he chuckled, a touch of red flushing his cheeks. Max, now living as Isabella, missed his family in Oklahoma terribly; his mother's warm hugs, his father's hearty laughter, and even Lucy's incessant teasing. But he was also aware that this new life held its own adventures. Amidst the towering skyscrapers and bustling avenues of New York, left with no choice, Max hoped to embrace these cryptic twists of fate with courage and resilience, just as any protagonist in a fairy tale would.
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