On the second, she managed to grab the edge of the bowl which turned slowly, falling from the table. The noise, chocolate and glass scattered all over the floor. The heads turning on her direction, the momentaneous deep silence, the reproaching severe looks, the embarrassment; the thin, yet persistent, stream of blood running on her foot, the loud cry that followed.
As a grown up she would remember that failure every time she had to try something new. No matter how sweet the conquest might seem, there was always the fear of getting hurt, getting cut, but there was mostly the fear of how she'd be looked at.