I remember those childhood days when the sun is slowly touched the floor, it could see the smallest speck of dust. I was 9.
Bathed in the bathroom, with foam and ducks. I loved the ducks, they inspire confidence. Duck, which I loved, was green, but the old, my mother did not want to give it to me in the bathroom, but from the new I refused, and she had to leave. I loved the green duck.
And I loved to hang on it, fully embracing her hands and feet, glaring at her whole body, and only when I felt a little more and my favorite duck burst under the weight of my child being sentimental, I touched the bottom of the foot bath, and let go.
The sun is shining, my mother is preparing dinner, I embrace the duck at the moment when I decided to let her go, I was horrified to feel a plug that keeps the inflated duck, flew out, snapped with a rubber ball in my chest, and mine, of course, children are sentimental released from the duck whole air. While these thoughts had time to reach the brain, my body has had time to fall to the bottom of the tub. When I realized what had happened in his eyes began to appear blurry spots in my chest was burning a fire. Oxygen starvation is a terrible thing, because if there are hungry people, you can forget that it is read, it's not for you.
My legs tighten blown away a piece of rubber that when you were my favorite substitute for friends. The hands are trying to find the edge of the bath, but all in vain.
I woke up, as it always does, as in magic, in his crib. A clean, dressed, and live. My mother pulled me out when I was already beginning to lose consciousness.
The more I open my eyes never under water, and the rest has not changed.