Well, another month is over so time for another monthly mindscape! This is when I get to disappear into a world of fiction for just a little bit, inspired by an image found on Instagram.
This month the image I’ve used is by Rebecca Hazel (@littlewinterfox) and I immediately fell in love with the fine line tattoo and gypsophila, probably my favourite flower.
The word ‘etched’ came to my mind and while I have no idea what this short piece of fiction will end up being about… I loved the word and image so much I thought, hey - let’s see what comes out of this.
So here goes nothing…
Etched
Sitting in the tattoo parlour waiting room, her knee was bouncing with nerves and delight. It smelled a bit like a dentist, which she always took to be a good sign she thought, means it must be clean - right?
A tall woman started walking towards her. Her figure was slight and her hips poked out above her low-rise jeans. Her hair was long and red. No, not red. Magenta. Piled high on her head, a few strands of magenta framed her face, and wow - what a face.
Her eyes were almond shaped, surrounded in precision eyeliner. Her nose small and elf-like, with lips that were thin and slightly chapped. Almost every inch of her skin was coloured with ink.
Flowers crept up her arms while symbols and shapes adorned her chest. Getting lost is the art, she almost missed the magenta-haired Goddess calling her name.
“Kelly?”
“Oh, yes, that’s me, hi…”
Kelly walked over to her tattoo artist, flushed and embarrassed. The artist didn’t flinch and engaged in the usual pre-tattoo chat. They discussed the meaning behind the tattoo, placement and size.
As the transfer went on, Kelly took deep breaths. The artist was carefully smoothing the paper down above her right breast, underneath her shoulder. Looking in the mirror, it was perfect.
As the artist started tattooing, Kelly calmed a little. She felt soothed by lull of the artists voice against the abrasive noise of the needle.
The pain was sharp and hot, but it soon dulled down, as it usually did. As the artist wiped down her work, looking proud, Kelly swooned a little inside. They walked to the mirror together to admire her work.
“It’s perfect…. Honestly, just perfect.”
Kelly said this in the mirror, not looking at her tattoo, but at the artist. She was then wrapped up, charged and sent on her way. Walking along the street feeling the adrenaline pumping round her body, Kelly wondered whether she would ever have the courage to ask out the people she found attractive.
And even though this time she didn’t make a move, she felt oddly proud. Proud of her new tattoo and proud of her ability to fall in and out of love so damn quick.
And so, she wondered home alone… again, with nothing more than ink (and a little love) etched on her skin.
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