The Tattoo Artist ( Flash Fiction)

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Since the time I could remember I was in love with sketching. As a kid I have fond memories of colouring the walls of my house with random scribbling. As I grew up I learnt the art of sketching, polished it further and finally became an artist, a tattoo artist ; for I saw the whole world as my canvas, open, inviting, asking me to come hither and paint them with my vivid imagination. 

Source: tattoo-butterfly-news.blogspot.com

Every new client had a new story and a new tattoo, for me it was like a new challenge every day. Such beautiful memories of love, laughter and joy I created for them. I loved it to the core and thought I had seen it all till I met her. Thin, tall and lanky she was barely visible in her oversized hoody. She was beautiful in a very alluring manner, nothing extra ordinary but yet something that made her special. She looked like a mystery waiting to be revealed. 

She wanted LIVE to be written on her wrist. As she motioned towards it I noticed various cut marks on them. Not knowing what to say, I pretended to get busy with my work and instructed her like other clients, “It will bleed a little and pain for a few days till it heals.” 

“And that is the reason I want to get it done. Just like beautiful tattoos, people never notice the pain and hurt a person goes through in life. What they see is their pretty faces and huge bank balances. The pain more often than not is just a reminder for us, to tell us about the distance we have covered from there till here, and then a bit further. “  She whispered, to herself. 

That moment I noticed the emptiness in her soul as her eyes reflected them clearly trying to ask me to see beyond her beauty and for a moment I felt her pain. The LIVE tattoo united us in pain, me in hers and she, in the tattoo's.

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