Theme: Tattoo Shop
Initial thoughts: Tattoo shops are all about art, and the appreciation of it. What do I like about them? What do I not like? What do the artists like about? What draws them to ink on flesh? What draws the customers? What about the addicts? Hmmmm....there's an angle. Let's explore that...
The little bell rang as the door opened, letting in
the cold February wind for a moment before it shut again. From the little office in the back of the
studio, Mahlania could feel just the faintest change in the temperature. She looked at the security feed, and saw the
customer standing at the front. He had
the shakes. It was going to be one of
those days.
“How
can I help you?” she asked as she came into the main part of the studio.
It was
a large room with high ceilings, the evidence of the old copper panels still
there in places. Along the edges of the
ceiling, plaster molding that was in various states of crumbling was still
visible. Artwork from artists past and
present adorned the walls, creating a hodgepodge of style and elements, ranging
from the subtle to the ridiculous. There
were several chairs and tables set up for use by the artists, where the
customers would patiently get their fresh ink.
Or, as was the case lately, not so patiently.
“I was
hoping to get some ink,” said the young man.
He was
short and thin, and his features looked like he was malnourished and living on
the street, but for the fact that he was clean.
If he was on the street, he hadn’t been there long. It was difficult to tell with the
junkies. The shakes gave him away
immediately.
“I can’t
give you any ink when you’re like this,” said Mahlania. “You won’t be able to sit still, and then the
tattoo would be all messed up. It will
look horrible.”
“But I
need this. Please, can you help me?”
Mahlania knew what he needed. It
was the ink itself. There was something
new and different about the ink that most of the shops had these days. She’d seen it. The ink shimmered in the bottle, in a way it
wasn’t supposed to. It was synthetic,
they said, and it was easier to work with than the old-school inks. It caused less pain, and it stayed true to
color longer. It became all the rage in
the city, especially among the younger generations. There was only one problem – it was
addictive.
She
never used the stuff. Business was
booming, for certain, and she had her share of customers who were coming in for
fresh ink, assuming she was using the new brand. She wouldn’t turn them away, but she didn’t
have to tell them she wasn’t using the product.
But when they were like this, she wouldn’t work on them.
“I’m
sorry,” she said. “I’ll tell you what I
can do. Why don’t you sit down and look
over some designs, have a cup of tea, and figure out what you want? It will warm you up.”
“I don’t
care what design you put on me, I really just need this. Please?’
Mahlania put a hand on his shoulder.
“I know. But I care. This is my work I’m talking about, and I don’t
want to put out anything that isn’t great.
You’re cold. You’re shaking. I can’t do my best work when you’re like
this.”
“Other
shops will do it.”
“Other
shops don’t give you the quality that I do.”
“Ink is
ink.”
“Not
all art is equal,” she quipped back. “Now
what will it be? Stay and get warm, or be on your way?”
“I’ll
stay.”
“Good. I’ll get you some tea.”
She
disappeared back into the office for a moment, and heard the distinct sound of
the bell again at the door. She knew he
probably left. She looked at the monitor
again, and saw him, standing at the door, holding it open. He wanted to leave, but he couldn’t. She watched through the monitor as he slowly closed
the door again, remaining inside. She
smiled. There was hope for this one.
“Show
me what ink you’ve gotten?” she asked as she came back into the studio.
He
rolled up his sleeve to show her the shimmering ink that covered his arm in
senseless patterns.
“Who
did this to you?” she asked, appalled.
I kind of enjoyed this one. There's a lot more I could add, of course, but for a single page, this does pretty nicely!! Something I have noticed: if you're reading carefully, you can see when the story is interesting to the writer, and when it becomes boring to the writer. This is true whether it's a play, a novel, an essay - it doesn't matter. One of my goals as a writer is to create interesting scenarios. They might be longer stories or shorter ones - that largely depends on the details of the story and the complexities of plot - but they have to be interesting, otherwise, I feel like they fall flat. That's what part of this exercise is about: creating interesting tales that make you want to go on to page two. Anyway....
Thanks for reading,
Me
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