My bones hitting each stair one by one. My body rolling down the stairs I could hear and knew which part of me was touching the ground. No pain, no feeling but I knew, it was bad. Everything so slow, so smooth it felt unreal. And there the last hit, my head landed on the floor as if someone threw it from the window. I twisted my head, but I didn’t feel a move, it was like my muscles were frozen. I tried to stand up but my legs weren’t reacting nor were my hands. The elastic feeling wasn’t there anymore. It was the first time when I was thinking of how to move. I felt like a I’ve forgotten the instructions of the easiest actions in my life. Maybe there was certain way of lifting my foot first and then the upper part of my leg, or my knee. I couldn’t remember the routine. All the different patterns of making a movement were in my head but I couldn’t put them in action. Then I realised that my naked arms were touching the ground but I didn’t feel the old wood under me. When I rolled my eyes to the side to see if there was anyone I saw blood. I was lying in a puddle of my own blood. The warm blood painted my in a dark red color and continued drawing agony like stains on my back. I saw my eyes filling with water but I didn’t realise what was it was till I heard my own voice. The drops were tears and the voice was a cry. At this moment I could recognise everything that was happening with my body but something was wrong. Why did it take me so long to know what was I doing. I was a stranger under my own skin.