story- fingers stapled to my table

I felt the weight of the stapler in my hand. I lowered it to my finger and felt the cold metal of the underside of the stapler on my boney fingers that I despised. one click of the stapler meant that my finger would be on the table forever. the blood poured out from under my finger as pain rushed through my hand. four more fingers. three more fingers. two more fingers. one more finger. my hand bled for thirty seconds until I passed out. my arm dropped and my fingers tore off the desk and had holes like bullet shots. the flesh from my fingers was still attached to the desk and my blood made a pool on the floor. the smell of iron filled the room.