No one knows exactly how the tattoos work,
or where they come from. Some say
they're sent from the heavens to guide the people in life. Others say there's a scientific explanation
that hasn't been found yet (the latter are usually the ones who ruthlessly mock
the former). Still others, most often
rural folk, say they're a conspiracy created by the Annunaki (these people are
universally ridiculed by the first two groups).
What everyone does know is that they're a
part of everyday life. If not for the
tattoos millions of people would never have found love. Generations have grown
up listening to their parents' stories about how they found each other through
their tattoos, and fantasizing about what their own tattoos might say. In the weeks leading up to her eighteenth
birthday, Risa's mother had told her the story (several times) of how she found
her father. Her tattoo had said "excuse me," and it had taken her years to find
him because it was so vague.
On this crisp October morning, Risa dared
not open her eyes, knowing that the minute she did, she would be face-to-face
with the first words she would hear from her soulmate. Instead, she lay in bed, contemplating what
might be written on her forearm. Would
it be an insult or a compliment? Funny
or tragic? Romantic or disgusting? Perhaps it would be something completely
random with no context.
Finally she found the courage to open her
eyes, but the moment she looked down, she regretted it. There, in beautiful cursive and red ink on
her arm, were three terrible words:
Please don't shoot.
Frantically, Risa got dressed and headed
out the door in less than two minutes.
Frustrated, almost in a panic, she raced down the street, and then
stopped herself. What was she doing? There had to be a very slim chance that
her soulmate had ever even set foot in this town. Just when she was about to head home, she
heard a faint cry from a few blocks away:
"Please don't shoot ... "
Risa broke into a sprint toward the source
of the voice, getting pebbles in the grooves of her shoes. Dogs barked at her
as she passed, pedestrians scolded her, and she probably ruined the life of
that 16 year old by knocking over the cart out of which he was selling snacks
to pay for college.
As she ran along the sidewalk, she heard
two shots - and then a scream from a nearby alley. Just as she turned the
corner, she caught a glimpse of a dark figure disappearing over a rooftop. On
the ground lay the body of the boy she would have married.
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