I am four years old. My father takes out a gun from a box. I ask him to shoot me dead. He refuses.
I kneel before him, crying, weeping, sobbing, begging him to kill me "Please, please, shoot me, Daddy!"
Amused, cold, grandiose, he keeps refusing. As if he simply didn't deign to grant me a wish.
Later, I find out that it was just my grandpa's starter pistol. But he didn't just tell me this immediately. Or say that it's harmless. Or tell me he didn't want to shoot me dead because he didn't want me dead or act as if his daughter begging him to kill her was a strange occurrence in the first place.
Why did I want him to kill me? Why did he react in such a way? I have no idea. This is a very clear memory, one I'm absolutely sure of. And I can't make any sense of it, other than "Darn, my early childhood was bizarre!"