Forget this shit. On a second lookback, the building was in so a ruined condition that even if it had collapsed on me, the material would've dissolved by just barely touching me. So that doesn't really count, and taking the thing that I recently suddenly remembered into consideration, it fades even more heavily in comparison.
It happened somewhere in 2003? 2004? I don't exactly know. Thing is, I was an elementary schooler kid, around age 10. I used to have a real obsession for electronic instalments, starting with lamps in all sizes and shapes - one particular case was toddler me running into every facility in my previous hometown, demanding their runners to flip the light switches a couple of times for my pleasure. They mostly obeyed, but I just lately was told that it was because my mother was the best elementary school teacher in said town they knew and liked pretty well. And when at around ages 7-8, my obsession towards lamps apparently faded into oblivion, did the next phase come along - power outlets.
Thankfully, I wouldn't be asking random people to shove long, thin and mostly metallic objects in those little holes holding the powers of certain death, but just awe at their positioning, and sometimes, higher frequency per room - for some reason. One certain culprit was this one in the corner of a room in my house which used to be my elder sister's before she moved out:
The One Outlet which almost cost me my life.
I just loved it, sitting in there semi-obscurely, behind an armoir and perfectly blending with the wall. I remember staying seated for long hours on the edge of said furniture, just gazing at it, unable to be satisfied by its charming perfection. Then, one day, almost everything changed about the feelings in my heart towards this piece of inner achitecture when, by sheer mischance, I found an around 6-7 inches long broken electric cord with a plug on one end in a drawer.
I played with it for a solid thirty minutes, then went along and plugged it into this one beloved outlet, where I proceeded to fondle the cord's plastic cover gently with my fingers. Suddenly, the entire house went from full light up to pitch black - and I started panicking in the darkness.
After my mother, slightly upset over losing track of her online conversations, switched the rheostat back to return power to the house, she interrogated me right along, and I was flat-out honest about the incident to the smallest detail. Learning that I was just about to become - as she would put it - "a burnt pile of coal", she'd become truly mortified and lectured me thoroughly how I was gonna be under the electronic charge instead of a light bulb or other device. Clearly she wouldn't've loved to lose me to some stupid obsession after losing my father and her husband to melanomic cancer - and this is where I started to be much more cautious around outlets.
Minutes after considering marrying one.