Mom tells me to go get my gray shirt. I go look in the drier but it’s not there. There’s a white one though. I go back to mom with a white toothbrush in hand with a purple decoration at the bottom. She takes a pair of fabric cutting scissors and starts hacking away at the bristles, complaining after a moment that she wishes it were easier. She starts putting some thread and the bristles together, and I wonder how because the bristles are so short. Then she starts sowing the thread to my fingertips, one by one. She then ties my hands behind my back.
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