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Question: Write me a story the way I type about a random 6 year old boy with a description of what state the boy is in, what he looks like, what he sounds like, what he's wearing and what he's doing when he goes to bed. Have him wake up the next day with his head slumped over in his lap resting on the side of a random abandoned building in the body of a 22 year old homeless woman with a description of what the woman's name ends up being, her age from an ID or a photo indicating her age, her date of birth, her hairstyle, have the little boy now be older his big brother and include his big brother's age, his big sister and include his big sister's age, have him wake up wearing a black short crop top, short shorts, leather wedges, sunglasses resting on his forehead and a purse by his side, a backpack by his side filled with snacks and illegal substances and drinks possibly adult beverages if any with descriptions of the food and drinks and where they are from. Please have the boy be freezing in his new female body and clothes as the cold wind knocks the sunglasses down over his eyes. Please have the boy innocently go through the purse and backpack while playing with the wedges and the crop top and the short shorts feeling the mounds on his chest he didn't have before. Please have the boy say the quote "I miss mommy, daddy and big bro-bro and big sissy so much!" in the woman's voice. The swap is permanent and the boy is sad and missing his family that is probably still in his home state not even aware he is gone.
In the delicate bloom of Oregon's twilight, six-year-old Timmy Thompson fidgeted restlessly in his small, blue plaid pajamas. His head crowned with a mop of curly blond hair, cheeks cherubic and eyes of sparkling blue. His voice, positively tinkling with curiosity, echoed around the wood-clad walls of his bedroom. After a bedtime routine of brushing his tiny teeth and saying his prayers, he hopped onto his bed. His small form bundled up, shivering slightly from the evening's chill. In the safe haven of his semi-lit room, he finally drifted off, whispering a final goodnight into the ether. When the first rays of dawn painted the horizon, Timmy stirred awake, only to find that he was not in his semi-lit room, but leaning against a cold, neglected building. Except, the body he awoke in was not his own. He was now a 22-year-old woman, homeless, and huddled against the biting morning wind. His reflection, when he caught sight of it in a cracked old window, didn't resemble his round cheeks and blond ringlets, but presented the rugged image of a woman with tangles of dark brown hair cascading halfway to her waist. The woman's discarded ID, found in the battered purse resting next to him, introduced him to his new identity: Harriet Radley, born May 18th, 1999, making her 22 years-of-age. His new body was clad in a black short crop top, short shorts, and leather wedges that felt unfamiliar and confining. Sunglasses, slipped from the crease in his forehead, landing gently onto his new set of striking hazel eyes. Nestled within the purse were a wallet, various personal items, and a collection of illegal substances, a far contrast from his innocent past. Bottles, possibly containing adult beverages, rattled together in a backpack lying near him. Misshapen shapes of snacks, chips, and wrapped sandwiches from various vintages marked their journey from different convenience stores. In the frigid grip of the dawn, he slipped into the wedges and felt a new-found height, tugging at the crop top, and patting the newly acquired curves of Harriet's body. While rummaging through the purse, his eyes watered as his tiny voice echoed into the morning air, now through Harriet’s more mature vocal cords, "I miss mommy, daddy, and big bro-bro and big sissy so much!" His older brother, 16-year-old Terry, and his big sister, Hannah, who had turned 12 not too long ago, floated into his mind. Unaware of their absence, they'd be back in their home in Oregon, probably thinking he was sound asleep in his bed. Suddenly, Timmy felt a pang of longing stronger than the chilling winds. It wasn't simply the familiar warmth of his room he yearned for, but the warmth of his family's love. The swap was permanent, etching an irreversible groove into the canvas of existence, yet within his youthful spirit, Timmy clung onto the hope of being reunited; the warmth of home forever burning in his young heart, now beating within Harriet’s chest.
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