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Question: Write me a story the way I write about a random 6 year old white American boy with a description of the boy's name, appearance, height, what state he's from, what he's doing. Include a description of the boy's mom's name, age and height and the boy's dad's name, age and height. Have him be having trouble sleeping when he jerks awake. Have him be in the body of an Arab woman with full traditional Arab clothing, shoes and accessories. Have him only be able to speak Arabic. Reveal the woman whose body he wakes up in's name, age, height and what part of the Middle East he's in. Have him be unable to go home and have him start crying. Have him say something in Arabic trying to innocently speak like a 6 year old and have it be in quoted text
In the heart of Stillwater, Oklahoma, lived a six-year-old caucasian boy named Jack Jones. Jack was a lively lad, with corn-blonde hair, crystal-blue eyes and a height that would have made him the tallest boy in his age group, standing at 4 feet 3 inches tall. His father, Robert Jones, a handsome man of 38 years with a height of 6 foot 2, nurtured the spark of curiosity in his son. Jack's mother, Lisa Jones, 36 and petite with a delightful height of 5 foot 4, loved and cared for Jack dearly. One restless night, under the constellation-kissed Midwest sky, Jack jerked awake. But the usual innocence of his bedroom was replaced by a different scene altogether. He found himself enveloped in the traditional attire of an Arab woman – an abaya, intricately designed with gold trimming on the edges, alongside a matching black Shayla adorning his now long, dark hair. Strapped on his feet were beautiful Badgir, traditional Arabian shoes adorned with embroidery. His blue eyes, now a warm brown, glanced at his enthral mirroring a woman whom he didn't recognize. She was the image of a woman named Fatima, aged 30, with a stature of five feet seven inches. The air was rich with the scent of fresh Arabian coffee and exotic spices, signaling that he was in the bustling heart of Damascus, Syria. Fatima, now with the essence of Jack inside her, panicked. Reality settled relatively quickly on Jack's youthful mind, as he realized that he was unable to go home. He missed his home, his parents, the carefree ambience of his quaint Oklahoma setting. The hurried mumble of Arabic conversations in the background only deepened his home sickness. Fatima, with Jack's innocence, started crying. A few onlookers turned to tend to the weeping woman. In his childlike lisp and hesitant Arabic, Jack said, "أنا لست هنا، يرجى مساعدتي على العودة إلى المنزل," which translates to "I am not here, please help me go home." It was a plea engulfed in desperation, reckoning the labyrinthine predicament of little Jack.
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