What do you say to tattoos? I recently got one. But it’s a stick-on. 🙂 WHY tattoos? Here’s one view point- for rebellion. But here is the tale of a girl who got herself inked for rebellion, but failed very ironically.
I had decided. I sat down without a word. I could feel his gaze linger on me, mocking me, laughing at me. Just do it, I wanted to shout at his face. But I feared it would come out as a whimper. He got the message. He sighed ad picked his weapon. As if to tell me he was serious, he whizzed it a bit. When I didn’t stir, he walked up to my outstretched arm. His drill noising away… my face turned away… the soft flesh of my poor arm the victim of his cold needle, to be….
I could still run away. He wouldn’t really be surprised. But I sat tight. There was a reason I was doing this. This wasn’t just for fun. I had thought it through. There was nothing wrong. This would set everything right. They can’t chain me to their system, tonight I’ll be set free.
But why did I still feel the qualms about this tattoo needle piercing my arm?
It began. It sliced through my skin, and jumped back out. And he moved it an iota to a side and hit my skin again. Now he wasn’t even stopping between every tattooed dot. It was like he was carving out a black curve on my arm, and the more it pained, the richer it would be.
But I’m the master of pain. What can’t I take?
Now he’s whizzing around my wrist and he’s drilling near my vein. If that vein bursts, I wouldn’t die, but a spurt of dirty blood will spill out. What if he’s clumsy, and presses in too hard? Will he puncture my artery and make me handicapped forever? Will I lose an arm tonight?
Suddenly my reasons don’t seem so bright.
Aaahhhhh. I’m crying out in pain. But he isn’t stopping. He’s doing the last curve, the last black part of my arm rued down to rebellion.
He’s filling it in, he’s colouring it, as if my arm is a mere canvas. Tattoo man, please, please, make it quick.
Ah! I can breathe. He’s done. I’m free.
There it is. In bold and black. ATHEIST. How dare they try and conform me to their God? No. I am what I want to be.
But wait- no. No! I’ve inked my arm. I have MARKED myself.
My rebellion was supposed to set me free. But I have marked myself, as they would have done! As if I am an outcast for my choice. I havfe labeled myslef- differnt from society. I played into their hand. I ruined my stand.
NO! The Tattooed Outcast. That’s me. Me?
P.S. I’m with all those people who did NOT like this particular post. I blame it on all the ruthless studying these days. Yet I posted it. Because I want to know what you think. Say what?