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Related Story: I remember the day of his interview well
The first strike hits his flesh with a thud, a cry escaping into the material he holds in his mouth. Picking up rhythm, I shower his back, buttocks and backs of his thighs with strike after strike, his skin immediately raising in a cross-hatch of welts. Every time I hear his pain muffled, I come down harder, my strike more deliberate, my appetite growing with each blow. When his back is covered in red welts, I rest my right foot on his side, the heel digging into his rib.…read full story
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