How to Apply a Band-Aid

You must open the box of band-aids, turning the lid, crunching back the paper flap, creasing its spine, its rigid form bowing to your will, revealing to you a wealth of bandages. You then reach inside the package, diving deep into the recesses, forming a claw with which aid will be taken, its fingers poised to grasp, needing to grasp, hurting to grasp. You remove a band-aid from the box, releasing it from its habitation, removing it from abstinence, bringing it forth for its mission, a mission of salvation. You open the band-aid sleeve, grasping for an opening, tearing for an opening, searching for the blue strips, fondling for them, fumbling for them, wrenching open the sleeves, tearing lightly the band-aid in side with your force of need, the band-aid now revealed. You now remove the paper backing from the band-aid, sliding it from its mucusy grasp, plucking pleading paper from sticky safety. You place the bandage over the wound, careful not to misplace, sliding carefully on top, eyeing a proper moment, a moment to release the band-aid, a moment to place it carefully upon the wound, securing its safety, securing its clotting, securing that no blood will get on your white shorts. Next, you will remove the band-aid, a pain, a shooting pain, stabbing pain, wrenching pain, deafening pain, a pain with its own metaphor.