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- Sasha, why did you slid off the stroller?
- Well, that has not fallen and wow is not broke.
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- Called to me, I would have brought you a pot – bustling around a disabled nurse, mother clucked. He stared into the eyes of the blind delectable warm mother lifting her head from the floor. My ears were ringing Christmas bells and slightly nauseated.


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Mother gently sat him on a carriage, a pat on the head, but the nightmarish memory bursts drove a black screen its precipitous old documentary.
Anesthesia slowly, looking back, moving away, and Sasha heard the doctor talking to mom and dad: – It is unlikely that your son will be able to see, walk, and everything else, but you do not lose hope. All may be, the body of a young, growing.

After that Sasha never heard the voice of the Pope, he threw them to the mother a few days later.
In codpiece pants someone stirred, pulling out a folded outwardly calm Sashka member. It was my mother’s hand.

- Let my mother wrote, I sent your squeak in a pot – my mother said, holding cold fingertips subadult body of his son. Mercury heavy urine, pushing the channel magnets, crumbled balls through the hole on the bottom of the glans of the pot.
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