My First Tattoo

I had always wanted to get a tattoo, but never quite knew what I was going to get. I spent countless hours browsing pictures on the Internet, but still couldn’t decide what to tattoo on my body. I wasn’t afraid of needles, I was afraid of mistakes. My father had always talked about how tattoos were forever and eternity, how the colors would fade and the design would stretch and evolve and blah blah blah. My body was not a canvas damn it! But when I found THE picture, I knew it was the tattoo I needed and the one I had been waiting for. 

I had researched tattoo artists in town in all my years of searching for the perfect tattoo and immediately made an appointment with Franklin. I became increasingly nervous as the appointment drew closer. How much would it hurt? It wouldn’t bleed, right? It wasn’t until after Franklin finished the tattoo that I realized what terrible magic he had unleashed. the spell overtook me the moment I walked out the front door. Every step I took. Every breath I took. Everything was changing with each passing second. Somehow I knew it was the tattoo. The artist had done something to me – had put something in the ink. He had to have. As the days and weeks passed, the bond the tattoo had on my skin but also the rest of my life strengthened. Strengthened to the point I had no control over my own life. I couldn’t make any good decisions and the only decisions I did make were detrimental to my own health and safety. But, damn it was fun.