UnCommon Bodies: A Collection of Oddities, Survivors, and Other Impossibilities (UnCommon Anthologies Book 1)

by Michael Harris Cohen

  "I'll need you to take off your top for this one. Will you be okay with this?"

  I couldn't believe he was a man who asked. Most would just tear it from my body in what they perceived as the throes of passion. I had never been asked before, and my face grew hot, reflecting my internal struggle. I mentally grafted my feet to the floor in an act of affirmation in my choice, and slid the garment over my head. Multiple scars were exposed, and I could see sadness reflected in Tobias' eyes as he studied the spot I requested the ink as though it were a blank canvas. To him, it must have been. Thinking of my body as a medium for art gave me the rest of the strength I needed to lay half naked on the man's table. Only when I loosened all my taut muscles had I realized I was counting my breathing; a trick I had learned to help calm my anxiety.

  "How about I start with the outline and we can go from there?" He suggested. I could only guess that he sensed my unease and was trying to help.

  I nodded again as I lay down. I was reluctant, at first, to let this man touch my scar. The memory attached was so emotionally charged that I felt the tears before I saw them well within my eyes. This particular wound belonged to the only person I ever really cared about. Was it wrong of me to want to cover it?

  "Can we maybe ink around it? I don't want to cover this one."

  Tobias smiled, it lit up his face in a way I had yet to see. It reminded me I didn't know him well. Perhaps this man might actually care?

  "Of course. How about we make it the body, that way the wings are for the scar itself."

  "I like that idea. Um... can..." I trailed off, scared of what I was about to admit to myself. I cleared my throat before continuing. "Can I make it rainbow?

  "Girlfriend?" he asked.

  "Something like that."

  "You loved her?"

  "Definitely," I replied seconds before I felt the familiar pain return.

  I couldn't see what he was doing very well, even though I held my breast out of his way. I was much more worried about this tattoo than the last. It not only would be a surprise once I had my hands on a mirror, it meant so much to me.

  "Do you have a particular style of butterfly in mind?"

  I hadn't thought about it. I guessed there were different kinds, but was not well enough versed in butterfly etymology to make a proper decision. Tobias must have sensed this when he spoke again.

  "I think a swallowtail will be the prettiest. Was she pretty?"

  "She was the most beautiful creature I've ever seen," I replied proudly.

  "Yeah, swallowtail. You'll see." Tobias trailed his sentence as he left for the other room, where he kept his drawing pads and template paper.

  Just then I realized exactly how much trust I gave this man. When I first came in here I just wanted to cover myself. But I should have known that I could do that with clothing. Tattoos were permanent. I sighed in relief upon remembering what my rose looked like. Tobias was very talented. His work was so lifelike.

  My body twitched as the needle floated over my tender flesh. The spots with the scars were infinitely more sensitive than those without. I was quite relieved that the artist suggested to make this one around the damage. I never thought I could be happy adorning one of my scars. It finally hit me why so many people thought of their scars as badges of honor. This pushed me to reflect upon the one I hated the most.

  The curving scar went from my neck straight up my face and across an eye. Had I not closed that eye...

  "I'm not happy about this. It's going to hurt me so much more than it will you."

  My mother reached for the extension cord.

  Tszzzzzzzzzzz. The needle pierced my skin over and over. I looked down as a tear crested my lash and splashed upon my nose. Tobias was far too engrossed in his work to notice. His hand danced along my sternum as it sketched in the antennae. The needle tickled the underside of my breast seconds before a painful jolt sparked up my side. Sometimes the transition between uncomfortable to painful felt seamless, tricking my mind into believing there was no line at all. A second jolt put my consciousness back in front of my mother.

  "Mom," I shouted, "Jesus says to love everyone. Don't hate the sinners, hate the sins!"

  "The bible also teaches children thou shalt respect thy mother and father. Being with that Jezebel is the furthest thing from respect I could ever have imagined. I should have done this the moment you told me you were dating that temptress!"

  I had gotten the belt before, but my father was too enraged to be the one to do the disciplining today. My mother possessed no belts, as she had explicit rules to dress solely in frocks. The woman was not allowed take my father's garments without his permission. The priest had long since locked himself inside the bathroom, to wash away the vomit and keep distance from his evil daughter.

  Tears streamed down my mother's face as she wrapped the cord, leaving loose a length that would be appropriate for what came next.

  "Abigail!"

  "Huh?"

  "I've been calling you for a few minutes, are you okay?"

  Tobias pointed at the tears streaming down my face.

  "Yeah," I lied as my voice faltered, giving me away. "I guess."

  "Do you want to talk about it?"

  When I looked at the artist, his eyes portrayed a concern I seldom ever saw in others.

  "No, I think I just need the thoughts to run through me. I think it helped before." He stayed quiet, seemingly reluctant to push his luck.

  "I'm sorry I was difficult before. I think we should call it a night after the butterfly." I wasn't sure if I could take any more of this tonight.

  I attempted a wide smile, but my reflection in the mirror behind his head and the sadness in his eyes told me it fell short.

  "Some of us go through more than others. Heal at your own pace, and in the meanwhile I'll be here to provide the bandages."

  A smile played on his face. He was trying to be nice and I had treated him badly. I reflected on the day, and the unexpected closeness that grew between my tattoo artist and I.

  "I can trust you, right?"

  My eyes widened at my own words. I hadn't meant to voice my thoughts. I was mortified by my own brazen behavior.

  "I know you don't trust many people, but yes. You can trust me; at least with this."

  Tobias lifted the gun in the air and I managed a short laugh. He could tell I was uncomfortable with my admission and found a way to help me cope with the fallout. My smile drooped as I remembered the first person I learned not to trust.

  "Sit," Mom commanded as she dragged me to one of our kitchen chairs, shoving me into the chair, forcing me to straddle the thing..

  I did as I was told. My mother lifted my shirt so there was nothing to encumber the belt that would soon whip against my skin. Dad was always efficient with his punishments. He did not like to hurt me, and so he wanted it over for the both of us as soon as possible. That was never the case with my mother. The anticipation was agonizing, but the mistake I made was worse. I held my breath for what felt like five whole minutes before turning around to see what my mother was waiting for.

  Crack!

  My face and body scrunched at the sound. I was too scared to open my eyes.

  "What in the name of the Lord were you doing?" my mother screamed. "How on Earth did I end up with such a horrible child?"

  I felt the warm, sticky blood trickle down my face before I had even dared open my eyes.

  "I'm sorry, I just..."

  "I just... I just..." mom imitated my voice right down to the last whimper.

  "I wanted to see..."

  "Well you got your wish, now you may never see again," she interrupted.

  "I'll get ready for the hospital," were the last words that escaped my lips before the sobs.

  "Do what you want, but not in this house. I can't handle a Satan-spawn like you. You have no place here. I don't care where you go. God can take care of you now."

  I opened my good eye just in time to watch my mother turn around and walk out of t
he kitchen, throwing her hands in the air as if to tell me she'd had enough, tears long since dried. My sobbing continued, however, tears mixing with blood. All I knew was that I needed to get myself to the hospital. I decided to concentrate on that. The rest happened naturally.

  A surge went through my sternum before bringing my mind back to the present.

  "All done Abby," I wasn't sure at first if he was telling or asking. "Want to see?"

  "Yes, please."

  It was hard for me to utter the words. My face was drenched and I realized the tears I shed in my memories matched those in this chair. I looked at the beautiful butterfly beneath my breast. The creature looked so realistic, its wings were vibrantly colored and shaded; it was as though they stood removed from my flesh. New tears appeared where the old had left their trails.

  "Thank you."

  I had no other words for work the artist had done.

  "There's time for another. Would you like to sit back down?" Tobias asked.

  My mother had demanded I sit.

  "I think I've had all I can take for one day."

  Tobias seemed to know my most difficult pain that day was not caused by his gun.

  "Okay, same time next week?"

  The chair in the kitchen was where I lost myself.

  "Yeah, sounds good," I smiled.

  The chair in the tattoo parlor is where my true self emerged.

  About the Author

  Jordanne Fuller is a mishmash of creative talents whirling into one another, solidified into a woman. She has been writing since she can remember but didn't realize how much she enjoyed it until her poetry explosion at the age of sixteen. At twenty, she wrote her first unfinished novel that will likely never see the light of day. Now that she is thirty(ish), Jordanne has finished Night, a novel that she hopes to publish in the near future. Although Dusk (the stand alone prequel to Night) is her first work to enter the hands of a publishing company, Troy was her first work to be released as a contribution to the Love Sucks Anthology, published by CHBB. Both anthologies achieved top ten international bestseller status the day they launched. She also has works within Twisted Tales: A Paranormal Anthology and Curse of Heroines Anthology; The Flight of Phoenix and Trapped respectively. When not writing, Jordanne likes to do various arts and crafts, but most of all enjoys spending time with her son, fiancé and four cats. She has lived in Toronto for much of her adult life, but spent her childhood among many of the surrounding towns.

  Thank you for reading UnCommon Bodies. We hope you have enjoyed the stories contained within. Please take a moment to leave a review. We love to hear from readers and it makes an incalculable difference for small press collections like ours. We've even made it as easy as possible with links that will take you directly to the review page!

  To Review on Amazon: http://smarturl.it/UCBAmazonReviews

  To Review on GoodReads: http://smarturl.it/UCBGoodReads

  Read what’s next in the UnCommon Anthologies Series:

  Uncommon Origins

  http://smarturl.it/UnCommonOrigins

  To hear about more projects and writing opportunities from Fighting Monkey Press, check out our website at www.FightingMonkeyPress.com.