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Literature Text
I once had the profound fortune to spend an evening with a girl who kept tattoos for those that she had lost. She stood at the window, staring out over the city streets in all their neon-brightness. She seemed to drink it in.
Her hair was cropped close; a pad of wire bristling from her skull. Nestled against the hollow of her throat, five stars transcribed an imperfect arc. Tracing the small of her back, flowers shed their petals in fluttering streams. One arm was lost to fire, the other consumed by flood.
She didn't say much, but even so her exotic figure was emblazoned with a lifetime of experience, a tale as curious as it was melancholy. Balled fists clasped at bedsheets and the designs seemed to writhe beneath her skin with barely-contained life, speaking in colours and tones. The patterns resplendent across the peaks and curves of her body's landscape spoke of sorrow and regret, of aching, hard-fought victory and painful defeat. A desperate, almost self-mutilatory attempt to feel comfortable within her own skin.
That single night, with her hair in glorious disarray, was the one time I felt as though I'd caught her with her defenses down.
What became of her?
Her hair was cropped close; a pad of wire bristling from her skull. Nestled against the hollow of her throat, five stars transcribed an imperfect arc. Tracing the small of her back, flowers shed their petals in fluttering streams. One arm was lost to fire, the other consumed by flood.
She didn't say much, but even so her exotic figure was emblazoned with a lifetime of experience, a tale as curious as it was melancholy. Balled fists clasped at bedsheets and the designs seemed to writhe beneath her skin with barely-contained life, speaking in colours and tones. The patterns resplendent across the peaks and curves of her body's landscape spoke of sorrow and regret, of aching, hard-fought victory and painful defeat. A desperate, almost self-mutilatory attempt to feel comfortable within her own skin.
That single night, with her hair in glorious disarray, was the one time I felt as though I'd caught her with her defenses down.
What became of her?
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Edited 19/11/07 to add the last two sentences. I'd like to think they give this a little bit of bittersweet completeness.
Two major influences for this one. Firstly, the song 'I Woke Up in a Car', by the band Something Corporate. There's a lyric that says:
'I met a girl who kept tattoos
For homes that she had loved
If I were her I'd paint my body
'Till all my skin was gone'
I've always misheard that lyric as "... who kept tattoos for those that she had lost". - so apologies to Andrew McMahon, but I decided to use that misheard lyric.
Also, this deviation served as an inspiration, too.
It could also bring to mind Nic's 'Bridges to Babylon', too.
Two major influences for this one. Firstly, the song 'I Woke Up in a Car', by the band Something Corporate. There's a lyric that says:
'I met a girl who kept tattoos
For homes that she had loved
If I were her I'd paint my body
'Till all my skin was gone'
I've always misheard that lyric as "... who kept tattoos for those that she had lost". - so apologies to Andrew McMahon, but I decided to use that misheard lyric.
Also, this deviation served as an inspiration, too.
It could also bring to mind Nic's 'Bridges to Babylon', too.
© 2007 - 2024 Mnesimache
Comments27
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this is amazing. i love the way you describe her hair, and her tattoos... i'd like more details about the narrators relationship with her. very interesting...