Genkora
Frog blast the vent core!
- Reaction score
- 92
There is no clock in this room. The movie Amastad is playing and I begin to get sucked into the brutality of it. Of course the mind wanders and I find myself staring at the tattoo on the shoulder of the girl wearing the halter top in front of me to the left. The tattoo itself is a flower, each petal an alternation of green and violet, the center a sort of off yellow. The one thing I can think of, the only thing I can think of, is that the tattoo very much goes with the overall style of the girl. I have never really liked any tattoos, not particularly, but I really liked this tattoo.
The mind wanders and I start thinking of a novel, a short story, perhaps a poem even, about this girl and her perfect tattoo. A story about me, the artist, portrayed as an unknown character, who is looking for a good subject for his next painting and happens upon this girl with her perfect tattoo.
Amazing, he thinks. Extraordinary, he thinks. The perfect subject, the voluptuous image of an anti-conformist baring her tattoo to the world as if to say, "I am not a robot!" How to say, how to ask? How to bring the idea, the master plan, how to bring her to light, the girl of his wildest imagination? A bump? A simple request to borrow an eraser, upon which he takes notice of the perfect tattoo?
"I am an artist," He would say, "looking for a subject for my next painting." After seeing the perfect tattoo. "Your tattoo, it caught my eye and I have to say, it goes with your style, it brings you together."
"Thank you!" She should say, "A friend of mine owns a tattoo parlor and made it especially for me. Although it took me a long time to decide what to have."
"Well you friend has a gift to be able to match the style with the person." Is what I would reply, and one has to wonder, have I flattered enough? Am I in the clear? Have I hinted my point to obviousness? As my chest would be pounding, my heart exploding, the moment before asking what has to be asked, I ponder the time I had failed a class in middle school. This is a girl, a girl and not a twisted mother who would end my life where I stood, so I ponder, I have no regrets.
"I was wondering, if you don't mind, would you like to be the subject of my next painting?" I ask as my elbow pushes a paper clip off the table.
A pause, a hesitation, am I deemed a creep? A weirdo, a jerk, an ecstatic freak? I look straight at her, awaiting a reply, she looks back at me, and the hours pass by. Eternity passes and still she is silent, then at long last she makes her reply.
"That would be awesome, I have never been in a painting before. What do I need to do?" She says as the paper clip strikes the floor.
My heart explodes and the blood passes down, I feel very warm and I fear I have Drowned. "You will? Excellent! All you have to do is make sure you wear something that shows your tattoo, it really adds character. If you want, I can paint you in person, or you can provide me with a picture."
"If I was painted in person? Would that be more brilliant?" She asks me with concern. I look straight at her and know deep down that in person would be the greatest joy I could receive.
"It would be more brilliant, there is no photo that can be as detailed as the real thing." I feel I have won, like now it is done and there is not a thing that will stop this painting from happening.
"Ok, here is my number, let me have yours. I guess we can meet at wherever it is you paint?"
It seems I have lost track as reality comes back, telling me I had forgotten my sense. I look up and see the Amastad's credits scroll down, realizing only that my chance has passed by. The girl has stood up and walked out the door, leaving me lonely with subjects in mind.
edit - fixed the tense shifts.
The mind wanders and I start thinking of a novel, a short story, perhaps a poem even, about this girl and her perfect tattoo. A story about me, the artist, portrayed as an unknown character, who is looking for a good subject for his next painting and happens upon this girl with her perfect tattoo.
Amazing, he thinks. Extraordinary, he thinks. The perfect subject, the voluptuous image of an anti-conformist baring her tattoo to the world as if to say, "I am not a robot!" How to say, how to ask? How to bring the idea, the master plan, how to bring her to light, the girl of his wildest imagination? A bump? A simple request to borrow an eraser, upon which he takes notice of the perfect tattoo?
"I am an artist," He would say, "looking for a subject for my next painting." After seeing the perfect tattoo. "Your tattoo, it caught my eye and I have to say, it goes with your style, it brings you together."
"Thank you!" She should say, "A friend of mine owns a tattoo parlor and made it especially for me. Although it took me a long time to decide what to have."
"Well you friend has a gift to be able to match the style with the person." Is what I would reply, and one has to wonder, have I flattered enough? Am I in the clear? Have I hinted my point to obviousness? As my chest would be pounding, my heart exploding, the moment before asking what has to be asked, I ponder the time I had failed a class in middle school. This is a girl, a girl and not a twisted mother who would end my life where I stood, so I ponder, I have no regrets.
"I was wondering, if you don't mind, would you like to be the subject of my next painting?" I ask as my elbow pushes a paper clip off the table.
A pause, a hesitation, am I deemed a creep? A weirdo, a jerk, an ecstatic freak? I look straight at her, awaiting a reply, she looks back at me, and the hours pass by. Eternity passes and still she is silent, then at long last she makes her reply.
"That would be awesome, I have never been in a painting before. What do I need to do?" She says as the paper clip strikes the floor.
My heart explodes and the blood passes down, I feel very warm and I fear I have Drowned. "You will? Excellent! All you have to do is make sure you wear something that shows your tattoo, it really adds character. If you want, I can paint you in person, or you can provide me with a picture."
"If I was painted in person? Would that be more brilliant?" She asks me with concern. I look straight at her and know deep down that in person would be the greatest joy I could receive.
"It would be more brilliant, there is no photo that can be as detailed as the real thing." I feel I have won, like now it is done and there is not a thing that will stop this painting from happening.
"Ok, here is my number, let me have yours. I guess we can meet at wherever it is you paint?"
It seems I have lost track as reality comes back, telling me I had forgotten my sense. I look up and see the Amastad's credits scroll down, realizing only that my chance has passed by. The girl has stood up and walked out the door, leaving me lonely with subjects in mind.
edit - fixed the tense shifts.
Anyways, that was good. The style reminds me of Edgar Allen Poe, 
