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Dev Patel here. Life is a Poem & You are Poet of your Life.
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Steam rises through a manhole cover in the center of a two lane street. It’s quiet; no traffic in this part of town, the only sound is that of sirens off in the distance quickly fading, to let that eerie calm settle on the street once again, buildings are crammed tightly together in an isolate neighborhood. Some of them run down used for vagrants and prostitutes. But most are all burnt out, except for the neon glow of one.
On the comer of a four way stop one particular building still has life, like the vermin of a sewer. This building still thrives, even through the roughages’ of the city. It’s a small quaint little shop. Lighting the street, the sign’s big red letters, and ‘Taboo TATTO’ flickers on and off. Boards cover the windows to the 5 floors above it. One can tell that they were once apartments up there, but now only this shop remains. The large black single sided windows reflect the light raining down from the tattoo parlors big neon sign, setting a blood red tent to the whole street. Between the red from the sign, and the yellow from a distant caution light, The mist escaping from the sewer lid, was lit a not so welcoming dingy orange, leaving room for thought to anyone thinking they may need a tattoo this late, and at this place.
The Inside was no different than one would expect from an establishment such as this. Cheap halogen lights illuminate the inside. Cracked vomit green tile covered the floor. Aged, torn leather couches meant for waiting customers in the corner. Walls were covered with different images and styles of tattoos. A white counter in front sat, lined with books and magazines of art work stacked, meant for customers to choose from.
The store apprentice, a drained young female with a sleeve of scars and tats lounges in a chair behind the register flipping through a magazine waiting to ring up the latest customer, in the back a burly tattoo artist with a bald head is heavily is buzzing away on a smaller mans forearm the sweat from the big man runs down the twisted veins on his crunched forehead. The man in the chair was bald, skinny, and pale. Wearing a white wife beater he seemed to flinch with every flick of the artist’s wrist.
The patron looks over at the mirror sitting on a vanity table. It was set back against a dirty white wall, with lights circling the mirror. The young man stares deeply into the mirror, watching where the artist is working on his arm. In the mirror he can see the shape of his tattoo come into focus. Flames drift around a massive iron cross while an eagle sits burning at the top. As he stares his pulse quickens he goes deep into thought, remembering what this new piece of art means to him or the world.
Suddenly the door to the front of the store creaks open. There standing in a worn black leather trench coat and dark slacks is a tall blonde man with broad shoulders, his jacket, barely covering his naked chest, gives way to a glimpse of the mass of tattoos. His eyes are dark and hold no emotion, like the eyes of a china doll, he doesn’t say a word, and the man just silently stares .The chick at the counter looks at him for a minute, loses interest and goes back to her magazine. The artist, so intent on his work, hears the man enter but doesn’t raise his head, being too busy with the piece on the patron’s arm.
The stranger sits down and begins flipping through the magazines left for waiting customers. While switching to a new color ink, the artist looks up “be with you in a minute, anything in particular you want?” The Man replies “ooh, I have a few Ideas in mind, nothing real special”. The strange man goes onto say hey you all want to hear a joke? There was no reply from anyone in the room, “well I’m going
To tell you anyway, why do chicks dig Jesus?” the girl at the counter stop’s and looks at the man quizzically, and the other two men follow suit. The stranger stretches his arms out like he’s on the cross and tilts his head to one side, “because he’s hung like this.” No one says anything at first just silence but quickly the artist cracks and starts laughing, the patron and the girl follow, all laughing hysterically. The strange man sits there and smiles not laughing just smiling.
Now that the initial awkward silence was broken the man again begins to tell more sac-religious jokes and dirty anecdotes’. He continues to keep them all laughing for a while. Before too long the girl at the register relaxes and starts to give more casual looks to the new man and offers him some friendly conversation. While he waits for the artist to finish his work.
Soon the art work is done and the artist dresses the man’s new tattoo, and heads him towards the register. He then turns and says to the stranger “well your next jester, what do you have in mind?” The man sits for a minute with that same weird smile and blank eyes.
The artist waits a minute then looks at him impatiently “Well? “ The stranger then stands up and undoes the front strap of his trench coat from around his waist. The garment doesn’t just fall, rather it seems to slither off of his shoulders and float to the ground. Everyone in room was then left staring in disbelief, at the work on the man’s body. Hundreds of evil looking tiny mouths inked into his skin. Vicious teeth looked to cover almost every square inch of his upper body. Everyone inside the building seemed to stare at him in amazement, that amazement turned to fear when the skin beneath the tattoos began to contract and relax. It was almost like muscles spasms. Yet they seemed to gain a 3 dimensional effect. Almost like the mouths were really opening and closing and trying to stretch and push through the skin. Muffled noises and moans began coming from the man’s stomach. Then the mouths begin to separate the skin, sharp teeth then protrude from the skin snapping and growling. The site was overwhelming, hundreds of mouths slowly extending from the man’s body. The young girl backs up in shock, pinning herself between the wall and the counter, while the artist turns towards the patron and the girl, checking to see that he’s not the only one witnessing this. The young man who just received his tattoo was petrified and unable to move fear completely immobilizing him.
They were all in what seemed like a fear induced trance, no one could move. The moans had got louder soon the sound was completely unmuffled and very recognizable they were screams, thousands of soul retching screams bellowing out of the seething and pulsing mouths on his skin. The mouths propelled themselves from his body with fearsome speed. They were attached to hot dripping red and black skinned tentacles lined with jagged razor barbs, viscous and hungry they lash back and forth like raging bull whips destroying the shop. The screeches were so loud and intense; it brought the three victims to their knees, ears bleeding from the excruciating pain. All that remained untouched in the shop is the mirrors, minding not to get the attention of anyone who may be outside.
Hundreds of tentacles whip back and forth uncontrollably. What was once skin covered with tattoos was now a vortex iminating an uncountable number of vicious lashing tentacles. All while the man just stands there with his sinful smile covering his face.
At that point one of the tentacles opens its mouth wide and lurches on the girl she screams as the mouth latches to her skull it sinks its teeth in tarring a way flesh she screams out in pain it then crushes her skull, the loud popping sound slices through the room… It then pulls her body in, like a python swallowing its victim. Inside, past the mouth the throat is lined with thousands of jagged razor sharp teeth, she is shredded and crushed, mangled pieces of flesh falling out of the creature’s mouth: ending up like ground beef. The only thing left of the girl was one of her emerald green eyes, covered in blood, lying on the floor.
The tentacles then put their focus on the two men. Two snap forward from the flailing group of vascular tubes, and wrap the artist up as he screams. One latches on to his legs as the other attacks his head. They each enter his body meeting half way through the man, the Barbs slicing and grinding against bones and vital organs. All while the artist was shrieking in agony. It being too soon for shock to sit in, he suffered. Then with a massive tug the two tentacles tear him apart blood, intestines, and bile spilled out, still warm and steaming on the cold floor. And last but not least the young man is eaten alive pinned down, and curled up in the feedle position. Before they devoured him he began begging for his pathetic life. But it is only death that comes for him, and pain that finds him, as he is torn apart, dozens of tentacles eat, scratch, pull and tear him, down into the bowls of oblivion learning death was his only friend.
And yet still the stranger’s stares on smiling, soon, the screams die down, the tentacles retreat back to his skin. Slowly sinking back in, till they are just the way they were. They morph back into his body the screams fall silent the mouths stop moving no traces of blood or bile left on his body. Calmly the stranger picks his jacket up off the floor and slides it back on, ties the strap around his waist: and walks out in to the dark night.
The night is still young, car horns and the occasional siren, echo from the distant highway over pass. The street is still lit by the red light like before when he first walked in and still no sign of life just trash blowing in a warm wind. A voice from behind gains his attention “you know if you keep up like this they will find us” The strangers smiles over his shoulder “relax… I am just having some fun“ He turns his body and behind him was a large Ebony skinned man with white paint covering his face milky eyes stare back at him wearing a long leather hooded jacket and dark clothing, and dread locks that hang like tethered skin from his skull. With his back against the building he takes a long drag off a cigarette. He draws in heavily and blows out a wall of smoke; little demented faces form in the smoke and dissipate as they rise into the night air
The Ebony man replies” Yeah well be careful ” A noise comes out from across the street a stumbling drunk passes and turns down the nearby alley knocking over another trash can and vanishes into the dark. The stranger turns his head and smiles to his friend “come on one more won’t hurt” the dark skinned man hesitates but replies “Yeah I guess your right” the man takes another long pull from a cigarette and flicks it onto the road. They both turn and walk across the street the stranger begins to undo his coat and faint screams begin to emerge from his body just as they had done before. Then His friend lets out a deep and demonic hiss and the dreadlocks that are on his head begin to move like snakes and red eyes form at their tips.
But the two were surprised when they enter the neither alley there was nothing there, nothing, not the drunk nor trashcans just emptiness. They look at each other in disbelief. Then realization followed by fear fills the once threatening faces.
Suddenly from behind two flaming white hands pierce their stomachs, like two swords piercing through flesh. The two men are lifted into the air, the flaming hands sizzling as they tear through their bodies. They begin to scream uncontrollably, no human could ever make the deafening shrieks that were coming from their mouths.
Their faces took on their true demonic appearance, mouths opening wide seeming to all most hang off their skull, their eyes glowing then bulged out of their heads their skin beginning to melt and fall off into huge chunks, hitting the ground in steaming piles, with an oozing black murky fluid surrounding. Then the ground beneath them open’s up, and two small black portholes form and black smoke blasts out of the holes as horrible screams and other worldly sounds followed. Black smoke crawls up the two creatures legs and engulfed the remaining parts of their ragged skinless muscles and torn bodies. The smoke then forms two ectoplasmic looking hands and pulls the two down into the black unforgiving void. In the blink of an eye they were gone into the darkness below. The holes had sealed themselves as soon as the creatures were engulfed not one trace was left of their existence.
The ‘food’ they thought they were after, the drunk, was floating a few feet away: Behind where the demons once stood. He was surrounded in a heavenly white flame. His eyes white, and his hands still stuck out in front of him, searing hot from where he had pierced their flesh. He floated down to the ground as the flames around him died down and his eyes returned to their normal crystal Blue. His back against the wall he slides slowly to sit down in the alley and takes a long swig from his bottle.