Tattooed Emotions

2

Dan

I wasn't born with it.

No one is.

You get it on your eleventh birthday.

A small, tattoo-like picture on your cheek.

But in a way, not it's like a tattoo, as it constantly changes with your mood.

It's normally received with a party. A celebration to commemorate the new chapter of your life.

Mine was met with the death of my mother.

We were out walking together, hand in hand on the day of my eleventh birthday.
The wind was strong, and my hand grasped tightly at my mum's hand.
She squeezed mine back, trying to reassure me, but she was shaking.

Why was she scared of a small breeze?
Or was it something else she was afraid of?

We suddenly stopped walking, and I realised we were stood close to a cliff edge. Below us, the sea crashed harshly against the menacing rocks.
"Mum, why are we here?" I asked, looking up at her.
She let go of my hand, staring ahead, her eyes were glazed over and empty.

Her cheek showed a red cross as words quietly fell from her mouth. "I've waited until you were eleven. Now I can finally go."

"Where are you goin-" I asked, as she finally looked at me.

One last time. A look that held me silent in the hours that passed as I watched her fall effortlessly into the waters below. A look that engraved itself in my mind as it bounced off the rocks and came to rest in a cold watery grave.

I wanted to scream. To yell. To shout. But all I could do was stand there as tears flowed silently from my eyes and mixed with the rain that showered my hair.

And that's when it appeared. My tattoo.

A solid black rectangle.

It never changed.

I was defective.
An anomaly.

Maybe that's why my mum didn't want to stay.

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A/N: Hi sorry I've been a bit MIA recently - this is me hopefully starting to upload every one or two days from now on...

...I'm trying. Sorry for the wait.