Changing the Stars (On Hiatus)

Chapter One: Sab

Sebastian was getting a tattoo. He’d gotten tattoos done before. Seven of them to be exact: A skull on his wrist, a music note on the back of his neck, a snake slithering down his hip and thigh, a simple flame that heated the right side of his neck, a chain around his ankle, a cheshire cat-like smile on his shoulder and a pair of drumsticks barely brushing over his heart.

This time he was getting a large tiger on his lower back. It would be in black ink and it would curve and curl and lay majestically against Sab’s pale skin. This is what Sab was going for. He wanted to capture the wonder of a tiger in a piece of art and he wanted to embellish his skin with it. 

You see, Sab had no stories to tell. Therefore he would research something, a tiger per say, and he would embrace that history as his own. He would stitch another identity on himself and he would do it until his story was completely covered up. Sebastian Finch was happy and blonde and blue-eyed. He was peppy and cute,

Sab was dark and angry and he was a mystery. He was a drummer in a band. He was an inspiration. He was someone else who covered himself in pieces of an invisible cloak made of ink. People didn’t dare try to find his story, his history. None of the people who got a taste of the boy were ever tattoo worthy, either. 

So no one shared with him and he shared with no one. Everybody stared at him like a piece of meat and he did the same to them. There was no love in his flings, there was barely even pleasure. He was not looking for someone to cover his “lonely heart” as many people believed. He was looking for a way to waste his time. 

“Is the fucking thing done yet?” Sab complained to his best friend, Neil, who was doing his tattoo. Neil had dark hair with bleached stripes in it. He had that tattooed, bad ass, pierced rocker guy look. He was tan and tall and happened to be the lead guitarist and singer in Sab’s band.

Neil rolled his dark eyes, “You’ve been sitting here for five minutes shit bag.” he complained as he made a dark line in rich, black ink up Sab's back. 

Sab sighed and stared at the blood red wall. There were cracks in the white molding and the floor was a dark cement, but the place was clean. Along the walls were pictures of previous customers with amazing tattoos. Some of the art was delicate and small. Some of it was hilarious, random and abstract. Some was heavy and metal. All of them had stories, whether they were attached to a dare or a loved one.

"Sab," Neil hesitated as he drove the needle further up Sab's pale skin, "Um...never mind." 

Sab could hear the shakiness in Neil's voice and he could feel the pressure of the needle change. The silence in the small room was deafening, the motor of the needle the only thing shouting into the void of quiet. It was an uncomfortable aura. Nervous and quiet and shaky and heavy. It was a scraped knee at a birthday. Or perhaps more of an unwanted comment at a funeral's after party. 

Sab let the quiet break as he cleared his throat and swiped his dyed-black hair to the side, "Neil, what's up?" 

A reply to the unwanted comment. The tension at the party thickened and reality seemed to weigh down onto Neil.

With a shaking breath and an unsure voice, "Sab, I'm quitting the band." was announced into the already depressed room.

And so the party was over and everyone got into their cars and vans with their dark clothes dragging along the wet-with-rain asphalt. Tears were unshed, yet there were still old tracks from the funeral, and everyone could visibly see that the evening had been rough and brutal,and sad and ugly. 

You piece of shit, we were in this together from the beginning. We were going to go to the end! Why are you doing this to me, to us. Has everything we've gone through together meant nothing to you?