When I was four years old, I stopped accommodating myself in my baby bed and it was decided to move me to a room with my sister, who is 12 years older than me. I slept very restlessly, so my sister did not share the bed with me, and my father, armed with screwboards, made a bed for me under the ceiling above my sister’s couch. I went there by the rope staircase, which was attached to the bed on the clamps and could be removed. I photographed it every night so I didn’t get into the room at night. Jumping was also problematic, because I landed on my bed with my sister, and she woke up and pulled me back.
Having eaten watermelon, I went to sleep, and an hour later I already felt the fatality of the situation. The child’s mind was convinced that if I jump, the bladder would inevitably break and I would die. From this thought, the need only worsened, and I decided to do my wet work imperceptibly from a height of 2 meters on my sister's puffy blanket - it is thick, absorbs and will not be noticeable. Oh, if I knew that the stream could so loudly irrigate a blanket. The sister woke up and, not realizing what was happening, sat down on the couch. I dropped her. Eighteen years have passed, but the feeling of shame has not diminished.