It was part of the ritual. They had to put one staple in the center of my bottom lip. The staple had to be put in my lip with a witness present. The witness was allowed to hold my hand. I desperately wanted the witness holding my hand. I kept walking around simultaneously trying to find the one who would hold my hand as I tried to avoid the staple– the thin, sharp, gleaming piece of metal waiting to be pressed into my flesh.
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