“Hey, Candace. I killed Aunt Helen, didn’t I? She died getting my birthday present, so I guess I killed her right? I tried to stop thinking about it, but I can’t. She keeps driving away and dying and I can’t stop her. Am I crazy, Candace? What if I wanted her to die, Candace?”
The Boy in the Striped Pjyamas 
Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows.