It is an unfashionable story for me, as a child.
It was in the evening, I think, and I was left alone to watch TV for a while.
But eventually I got bored and opened the window to look outside.
Suddenly, the window of the next room in the apartment opened and a girl leaned halfway out and peeked out.
I think I had some kind of conversation with the stranger, who seemed to be a couple of years older than me, but I don’t remember the content of the conversation.
Eventually, the girl said, “Let’s go outside and play.
I replied, “I can’t open the door.”
The girl then said, “Why don’t you just go out the window?”
Laughing, she fluttered over the railing and jumped down, landing with a pop on the grass below.
I saw her waving at me, “Come on, come on,” and I thought, “What a piece of cake,” and tried to follow her down.
Then I heard a scream behind me, and the next thing I knew, I was being thrown down on the tatami mats.
I looked up and saw my mother looking like a demon, and I peed myself.
It was the third floor. If I had jumped out the window, I would have died.
As the years went by, I began to dread the thought, “If my mother had come home a little later that time, we would have been in big trouble.”
