The Junk Drawer

10-27-78

I remember being told by a group of old women that there was once a time where getting Tattoo was a choice. You could get your own personal artwork of whatever you wanted, in whatever color, wherever you wanted on your body.

I remember them telling me that in those times, which they referred to as The Glory Days, was a time where everybody got to have choices, not just about simple things like what Tattoo design they wanted. The people of The Glory Days could choose what they want to be, who they want to be with, where they want to live.

They were even able to choose when they were going to die.

Now, we don't have the luxury of choice.

Every time a person is born, a Tattoo of a date is etched into the skin on their wrist.

Not a single person has ever been recorded as Free. Freedom is something idealistic, impossible.

The Tattoo marks a date; the date you die.

My Tattoo has always said the date 10-27-78. I had prepared myself for death, saying goodbye to my family and friends and sat in a comfortable chair. I watched as the time on my watch slowly ticked to 12:00 AM, 10-27-78.

That was yesterday.