Black Plastic Chai
@MariaCGoodson, @IanAndersonEtc, @annmariebrok, @shineslike, @minor_threatte, @Mizimoomoo, @reladbrook, @ideosinkrasse, @dariano19, @Vrikkian & @dcmanoogian
on Wednesday, July 8th, tweet by tweet.
Her shoulder would sting. As the ink sunk into her skin she would remember that this too shall pass. A tattoo seemed fitting to Candy- as a talisman or omen: what did that matter? She’d keep January 15th with her anyways. The pain of this needle is nothing compared to the goddamn January day, she thought as the imaginary buzzing filled her thoughts.
But the tattoo would remind the world what she’d been witness to that cold day. She didn’t want anyone to forget.
“Maybe you should walk,” her father had said, peering outside. “Or just stay in, have tea.” But Candy was late. She grabbed her keys and left.
It was a date she could never forget- the day of her epic transformation.
Snow had balled under her feet, breath clouding her focus; she started walking down the street to her parked car. Everybody stared after her but she did not turn. She never saw her father again.
Candy would dip the needle into the melted black plastic. She would do this herself. She would pay for not paying attention.
But she knew herself, as much as she didn’t want to. The moment she felt the burning sensation, a bit of hot plastic dripping into her skin, she would know she didn’t need a reminder. Candy would put the needle down. A tiny dot might remain. Indecision would always haunt her.
That night, she reached for a sharpie. With eighteen swift scratches the word appeared on her left forearm: chai.
Slight alterations have been made to make this story make sense, changes in tense or sentence structure. Thank you to everyone who played along, and to Writers and Words for letting me take over your twitter and read at your July reading. People rock.