fish hook

I was staying in a house around the corner from the home my family built. A few of us were sleeping there and sometime during the early hours of the morning, around four, we woke and prepared to leave. It was time. I packed a bag with my clothes and toiletries; everything I had seemed to be very practical, even a little drab. I also packed the bag of my friend who wasn't there. Where my belongings were very ordinary, everything in her bag was glitzy: silver clothing, costume jewellry, hot pink slips and baubles. Something stabbed my finger as I organised her bag. I pulled out my hand and saw that a fish hook had pierced the pointer finger on my right hand. I removed the hook and reached back into the bag but again, a fish hook pierced the same finger in exactly the same spot. I removed the hook and second time and looked at the wound and into her bag. I could see that there were a dozen more fish hooks inside. I went into a more central room where other people were packing and mentioned to someone that I needed to find some antiseptic and a bandaid to cover the hole, as I was concerned that it may become infected and that I would be caught on a hook a third time, simply because the hole was already there. The person seemed overly concerned and told a man (the adult version of a childhood school friend who I haven't seen since high school) that he needed to operate. He seemed very stressed and I wondered if he was sober as he prepared a needle. He asked me if I had removed all of the hook and I looked and saw that there was a thin silver wire poking out of the hole. He found some pliers and pulled the wire out, ripping the wound open. Blood sprayed the wall and the chest of his white t-shirt but the pain was dull. He then proceeded to stitch the wound back together and seemed to make a terrible mess of the stitching. I doubted that this was the right thing to do.