The Tattooist

July 19, 2017 by Patrick Starks


Today is my first day. I’m a little nervous, but I’ve waited my whole life for this opportunity. I can’t chicken out now. I’ve been begging Alexa for to give me this chance for years now, and with the kick ass portfolio I’ve developed—I have to say, it opened the door towards my destiny. 

It was a Thursday morning, I was up bright and early—five a.m. on the dot. I was pumped up, inspired. But it wasn’t because of the day necessarily—this I would have to give credit to Tony Robbins. If you don’t know who that is then I recommend you google him, be prepared to have your mind re-awakened.

On that day I was promised I would get my first client. However, I prayed, crossed my fingers even, that it go better than expected. I wasn’t worried about my skills, not to be cocky, but they were always good—sometimes better than other’s. But what I was worried about most was who I would get. I’d had clients before, whom in which gave me more trouble then I wanted. A lot of them would ask for tattoos in the most awkward places—private parts, ass—inner part of the ass—some call it the ass crack, it was disgusting. At times I’d think it was just a prank or a joke they were pulling on me, but then they would actually give me a meaningful description to why they wanted them. Since I’m sure you want to know, the client that asked me about the inner part of their ass was luckily a female. Me being a female myself, I say that because our asses are usually cleaner—cleaner than the males, no offense gentlemen, but only speaking the truth.

The tattoo she wanted was kissing lips. She said it was a reminder to all her haters, to all her exes, and all the people that portrayed her to kiss her ass. At first I thought it was pretty stupid, but then realized how catchy it was—it made sense, somehow. But to make a long story short I didn’t do the tattoo, I pointed her to another artist where they specialized in that kind of random stuff.

To continue on, later that day I arrived at the shop. I was immediately greeted with royalty as they showed me to my workstation.  I had no idea who’d I be tattooing or what they wanted—in the industry this was always a no, no. Artist were to always set up a consultation with their client before-hand, so that they had time to prepare the tattoo they desired. However, this was a test, and I was to take it on flawlessly, no excuses. Pretty shitty deal, but this was the top shop in the U.S. Anybody who was a big deal worked here—and I wanted to be that big deal. About an hour went by and the client arrived. The client was a male—tall, slender, and wore what appeared to be workout clothing. I could tell he went to the gym a lot, he was very fit. I had instant visons of tattooing such a sexy body, but thought about my boyfriend and how bad he would feel of my thoughts of this man. But if you’re thinking I’m one of those girls, do not be mistaken—I love my Ronnie and always will.

The man then sat in the chair, I was nervous, but reminded myself that this wasn’t my first rodeo. I asked him what he wanted, he was excited to explain and as was I. The man said he wanted to get a wolf on his shoulder, I stood puzzled. He wasn’t of any native descent, nor breeder of wolves so I wondered what for—although, nowadays you really don’t need much excuse for getting a tattoo, but for me, it’s the thought and meaning that counts at the end, so this I wanted to hear. The man then told me his father had a tattoo of a wolf—he said that his dad had always looked at their family as a wolf pack. In his own words he spoke ‘I would like to have this to remember him by, a remembrance’. This was a very inspirational to me, I’d thought about getting one for my mom as well, she’d pass a couple years before—I really miss her, love never dies,  she use to say.

But I started on the man he was pretty simple, by that I mean not a bleeder. For being a tattoo artist I wasn’t all that fond of blood and would nearly pass out by the sight of it. But judge me if you want, everyone has their kryptonite and blood happened to be mine.

The session nearly took the whole day, usually we artist would spread the work apart, but I powered through it. The man was very enthusiastic about how much he wanted it done right then and there, luckily I was a top notch artist—not to sound cocky. Eventually we got done, it was about ten thirty seven at night. I patched him up and up and sent him on his way. For as chizzled a man he was, he was quite the baby when being tattooed. He obviously had a low tolerance for pain—all attraction I had for him was gone. Ronnie was strong, not saying I’d leave him either wise, just saying I appreciated I had someone strong in my life, that loved me as much as I loved them.

A few days later I was the closer for the shop. I’d just got done with my last customer for the day and I was exhausted. Everyone else left for the day, and I was left all by my lonesome to cleanup. It was creepy, who’d thought a tattoo shop would be creepy right. I mean we have sharp objects, pictures of skulls and demons, even vampires—what could go wrong, I’d think anyone would be creeped out though. With all signs of weirdness, I later heard the door slam—slamming hard enough to break the glass on it, but it didn’t. I listened for my name but no one called, neither did they give an introduction. I ran to the back room and hid. I was worried that it was some creeper, but I saw no creeper, no human life to be found.

As I looked in the mirror what I saw in the reflection was fierce. I ‘d never seen one this close, but as I looked again to verify, it was exactly what I thought it was.

What the mirror showed me was a wolf.

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