Saturday, January 31, 2009
a little story I wrote up on my phone...
with the help of a thesaurus and a sidekick.
As he strolled into the Tattoo parlor, Saru understood something wicked had gone down. In the 6 months in which he had been a patron of the "sons of anarchy tatoo and piercings", it was in no way ever this empty. No bubbly, bespectacled receptionist, no thunderous, insufferable bouncer drinking a Corona. Most notably, Pritt was nowhere to be seen.
Saru gradually paced towards the back room where he had last seen all 6 feet 130 lbs of her. She reminded him of Demi Moore in G.I Jane or Motoko Kusanagi from Ghost in the Shell; A muscular, beautiful brunette, with a strong voice and a deep sense of charity. Any other person would have immediately turned Saru away on the spot.
There he stood, in the unchanged room where he was 2 weeks prior. He felt privileged to be Pritt's first client in roughly two years. Saru was stunned she would convey so many hours and so much black ink into the intricate puzzle that was now his full sleeve tattoo. Saru would spend a complete hour gawking at the jagged, M.C Escher like patterns running from his wrist to his underarm.
Saru was suddenly struck with a deep sense of dread. His legs felt bulky, his eyes shot from one part of the room to the other. His chest gave off an irregular pattern, as if he had caught one of those Asthma attacks his mother used to catch back in the days. But he had no time to reminisce. The room had been overturned. Blood splattered against the walls, the sturdy tattoo table in which he previously lay on had been broken apart. Pritt was nowhere to be found.
"Where the fuck is the phone?" he ran towards the receptionist’s desk, but to no avail. For a moment, Saru had forgotten this was a shady, gang organized tattoo spot. "Why the fuck did I ever come here in the first place!?" then he saw it, it had caught his attention like nothing before. It was a bloody footprint, smeared about 2 feet in front of him. It leads towards the bathroom.
6 feet tall, brunette, tone ripped tattooed arms sprawled across a marble floor. Pritt was dead. "Oh my god...P...who could have done this?" he cautiously walked towards her cold, unfamiliar corpse. Not wanting to be blamed for the shit that had occurred on this auspicious morning, he used some saran wrap lying next to the body to carefully divulge the woman’s face.
It did not resemble anything Human In the slightest. If it wasn't for the dated tattoos and the black leather tights, Saru might have tricked himself into believing the woman he met not a year ago was laying there deceased. Her eyeball socket was hollow. Her nose caved in. Distinct crimson and orange blood pooled in the exposed jaw. Saru was appalled. He took five or six steps before his vomit covered the bathroom floor. He couldn’t think of what to do or who to call, but Saru knew he had to get out of there immediately. It was as if he felt this demonic force behind him.
Saru dashed out of the parlor so fast his mind couldn't process right. He did manage to catch a glimpse of his right arm reaching for the door handle of the tattoo parlors entrance. It took him three attempts until he actually grasped the damn thing. That's when it caught his attention. His eyes finally stopped jittering from side to side. It was unmistakable. Under his wrist, hidden between the fresh tattooed lines, there lay two words. Help Me. Saru ran with all his might...there was an evil air around the entire parlor. He knew it would follow him where ever he was headed.