Writing Prompt

Child: “what’s the tattoo on your wrist mean?,” the child asks the women

Asteria: “it’s means I’ve been through hardships.,” the women responds in a monotone voice

Child: “what kind of hardships?,” the child asks her curiosity getting the best of her

Asteria: “I really don’t want to talk about it.,” Asteria says with uneasiness

Child: “why not?,” the child ask stubborn to get an answer instead of just no

Asteria: “because it’s a personal matter.,” Asteria says

Suddenly the mom of the child comes to the child.

Mom: “sweetie are you bothering this young lady?,” the mom asks her daughter

Child: “no mama, I was just asking about her tattoo.” The child responded blissfully unaware of her naivness

Asteria: “uhm ma,am, actually your daughter did bother me a bit she kept asking me what kind of hardships I’ve gone through when I told her what the semicolon meant.,” Asteria says uncomfortably

Mom: “Oh I’m so sorry sweetheart, I sincerely apologize for my daughter’s actions. She can be a bit too curious at times.,” the mother responds with

Asteria: “it’s alright ma,am I understand she’s still learning about the world around her.,” Asteria says finishing off the conversation

In the community of Geta, there was a woman who had been ostracized many moons ago. A utopian society centralized around ridding itself of the byproducts that come with humanity, an inherently faulted creation. If they were to cultivate such a world, it must be suppressed. For how can one be sad if happiness is unknown? Ultimately, with the removal of Factor X, a chilling collective would be conceived. And that's all they could be called. Moving forward, it was decreed inhabitants of the compound would be known by their occupation. There was no need for names, but beyond that, they were far too dangerous in the eyes of the council.

For amongst them, there was one. 

An individual whose name seemed to be intrinsic to their existence. She continued to walk the streets of Geta with her name intact. Regardless of how fragmented her soul became, it always seemed to restore itself. The seasons came and gone, yet she still remained..? There was but a single woman separating the council from their image of perfection. Left with no option, the role of Mayor was established for this unique occasion. Now, with the means to expel this harmful entity, she was relocated with just cause. For she too had a role, and an important one at that. Under the pretense this move would enable productivity, she was placed atop the nearby summit; thus, improving her ability to watch over the community. At last, the council had finally attained purity. 

A system known to the people as Velchia was proclaimed. The council would thoughtlessly acquiesce to every demand in hopes of dissuading a subsequent return. Just beyond the walls lay a lone path. A colored path seldom walked. The chosen select would deliver all requested tools; indeed, her influence would unlikely be able to taint the rest. In complete solitude, she continued on with her vocation in the eyes of the council.  

Beyond that door, the Archivist waits.

"How could you forget the most important delivery Courier." I heard Director listlessly say to my guardian as I waited in the other room. His steps could be heard as he paced around briefly.

"This package seems to have been misplaced..." Courier countered.

"What?" Director said, astonished. I tried to peek around the corner before swiftly reeling back after seeing his expression contorting in all types of manners almost as if he was malfunctioning.

 "The result. The result is what matters; how often must I explain that? You have one role, that is to deliver packages. The potential complications a Recipient could suffer due to a simple blunder..." After briefly massaging the bridge of his nose, he started up once again, "Hmm, we might need to advance this year's rehabilitation, Courier. All of you deviants are nothing but trouble. Your errors will influence the next generation poorly, especially her. Let's accelerate your junior's progress; I believe decommission is imminent, Courier."

Nothing more was said, Courier accepted the assessment with a simple nod, and the interaction soon thereafter ended. After seeing off Director's departure, Courier returned inside the workshop. As he navigated towards his favorite seat, I revealed myself from the wall I lurked behind. He ignored my immediate presence, clearly exhausted his body looked lifeless as sunk into the chair. Now, in a relaxed state, nothing could concern him. 

I began, "I don't understand it, Courier! It's not your fault. Why is Director being so unfai...".

His eyes grew wide as he surprisingly shot up out of his chair, and thrust his arms in front of me, palms wide; he drew upon a deep breath and then eerily smiled.

After a deep gaze into the window his soul lay behind all I could see was trepidation. In my time with Courier, he had always tried to protect me from the council's methods. Courier became my guardian after it was discovered I, too was a deviant. It is instructed to view all guardians in a utilitarian view; however, it was hard not to think of him as Guardian. All deviant bodies share similar colored markings. For some reason, these were to be covered at all times. When I was a nascent lily, I often ventured into the darkness, but on this road of curiosity at every turn a door closed.

However, on a few occasions when Courier had just returned from a lengthy delivery, he seemed unusually vibrant as he tracked mud with every step inside the workshop. It was hard to forget these few instances he would entertain me. Reminiscent of my when I first began to conduct delivery routes, similarly to most houses, each flower I'd pass, monotonous like snow. But amongst those, a lone stain led my sights towards a hidden door beyond the clouds. And with that, the roads became clear; on the other side, I found, 

"From the mountain flows color." Courier warmly spoke as he flexed his bare forearm; undoubtedly,  emphasizing a fresh progression of his markings boasting strange hues.

After returning from my brief lapse, I returned Courier's empty expression. Finally, relieving him from continuing on with his facade by mimicking his grin. The moment had ended once again with no real resolution. He turned his back towards me and began to saunter towards the workshop's entry. I intently watched him as he hovered over the package Director had scrutinized him for. Suddenly, the atmosphere had shifted once more. I could see a rare glow in eyes. What has gotten into him? By mentally tracing his line of sight, I realized he had been fixated on the parcel. Body hunched over, one arm fiercely gripping his ulna, the other covering his face, he breathed, "I must go."

Like an owl, his head disturbingly rotated towards the clock, followed by some visual discord. To test him, I made a beeline for his favorite chair. After assuming a more comfortable position, I went on to watch Courier pace the room around and around. I soon became dizzy, he must've garnered more steps than an average route yields. Eventually, he halted; did he realize I was sitting in his chair. Courier headed in my direction prompting my eyes to close, unwilling to engage in another stare-down. After a few moments, I heard a soft thud, and span around to see him look like his destination led him to defeat. Wow, must be serious; he really loves this chair. The package now lying on the table adjacent to the front door. He turned towards me, yanked me out of the seat and began to reluctantly acknowledge it was almost curfew time. Now, after that display, I was interested in what made that package so special, while Guardian guided my body towards the resting capsules, my mind still lay fixated on it. As I realigned with my physical body, I took a second to assess the current situation. Surveying the room from the safety of my bed, I caught a glimpse of Guardian with his finger over the light switch. Our eyes locked one last time before being interrupted by complete darkness. I saw it, a genuine smile. Chills reverberated throughout my body even while underneath the abundance of warmth provided by my favorite blankey. The door shut closed, and my restless body squirmed around, emulating the back and forth occurring within my mind for hours until I knew.

I must go.

Caressing the package activated its holographic label; thus, with the soft iridescent illumination, I could inspect the address. It read "UNIT:000", a residence I was surprisingly unfamiliar with, and to make things worse, there was no title listed. All that could be seen was the word, Dido; however, that was no role I was familiar with. Perhaps a convention error? After some brief thought, I concluded that wasn't the case. Mayor approved all of Geta's packages so he couldn't be at fault. It was known that council members were examples of perfection that all should replicate. I pondered over the training exercises Courier had taken me on as his successor; it was essential to memorize the community so that I may efficiently perform my assignments. "Hmmmm."

Returning the package to its resting spot, my head started to tilt towards the ceiling, disgruntled at what to do now. Eventually, I completely zoned out, and as the moments began to add up, my determination was subsequently subtracted. Until my brow furled, there were several versions of grey that I'd never seen before. 

My head slingshotted downwards as I brought it just inches away from the package. After analyze it as if under a microscope,

"HOW COULD I MISS THIS"? The courier within me took fatal damage.

This package was stamped with a strange kaleidoscopic mountain. Explosions of all sorts were occurring within me, and my determination soared beyond prior altitudes. With every encounter these mysterious hues yield a hidden path. I've found another door, whispering

From the mountain flows color.

For once, I agree with you Director, its time to make my first delivery!

After a mild hike through the darkness and up a downtrodden trail guided by a few working directional lights, I finally arrived, or so I thought I did. The path ended, but there was no residence in sight. The daunting scenario presented before me once again challenged my determination. But deep down, an indescribable feeling compelled me to complete this delivery Courier seemed to covet. The forested area seemed to envelop around me prompting my eyes to seal tight.

"awooOOOOo"

A piercing howl shattered the illusion I almost succame to. My legs now instinctually propelled my body towards the origin of this noise. And savior it was, I discovered a meager shack tucked between a mass of shrubbery, almost as if purposefully hidden. I waded through the final defense that separated myself from the entrance. Finally arriving at the perceived recipient's location, I defaulted to standard protocol. All doubts fled my being, now instilled with procedural confidence I conducted an examination of the premise. Aspects of its design were unlike any other I had observed in Geta. There was little to no variation among all residences. Moving alongside the darkness, I managed to discern the emblem I sought thanks to some faint interior lighting. Phew. After concluding my analysis, finally I made haste for the entrance. Standing abreast with the front door, I smacked my face to solidify my conviction―another technique Courier had taught me. I gripped the package in one hand, knocked with the other, and used my outdoors voice to say, 

"DELIVERY!"

. .. ... ....

Reverberating throughout the void that surrounded me, it seemed as if my announcement reached the ear of many but earned no response. Only the chirping of nearby insects remained. An eternity of silence ensued, or at least that's what it felt like; with no immediate reply, I became flustered. Why didn't it work? This wasn't included in the standard courier protocol. The recipient is always supposed to have answered my call by now. What was I supposed to do after that? Should I follow up with a second cycle? "AhHhHhHHH."

On the verge of breaking down, my ears perked up on hearing a set of binate footsteps approach the door I now kneeled behind. As I picked myself up, they subsequently ended. I was giddy, awaiting my Recipient's figure to appear. Never doubt Couriers training! I've prepared all my life for this

"Huh" is how I would describe my dumbfounded facial expression. The ensuing draft tickled my legs. The door was open, but there was no person in sight. How did it... I began while my eyes drifted downwards to the expected floor. Instead, they were met with another set attached to a medium-sized four-legged beast with pointed ears, thick fur coat, and whiskers that brushed up against my legs. Startled at the sight, I pivoted towards the brush behind me before being leaped on. My life flashed before my eyes, triggering some sort of play button, a reel of all the future packages I would deliver played through my mind. Even if I were to make it back, thoughts of the harsh consequences Director would dispense overwrote the ideal future I hoped for. This may not be the worst outcome...  My markings ached and I was able to hear Courier whisper,

"The package."

Ugh! I had to combat the barrage of licks this creature was unleashing. Surely these were the preparations it took before a feast! While instinctually countering with my own package parry, I realized I must've dropped it at the front door. That's it. I sprawled out as I came to terms with my fate. I'm doomed...

"FIDO!"

I squinted back to the front door to see an awe-inspiring being standing between its shoddy frame. What could it be? After the beast removed itself, I could clear the mass of newly acquired facial hair that obstructed my vision. With every blink, the figure slowly distorted back to a sensible rendering until the exalted divinity I believed to be there eventually returned in the form of a simple elderly woman. However, although diminished, I could still sense a strange aura resonating from her. This intuition was directed by a faint glow emitted underneath her densely clothed body. This process of observation guided my attention toward the hand that now gripped onto the package. 

My Recipient?

As we passed the doorframe, I nearly tripped upon entering. This forced me to acknowledge the sheer volume of clutter scattered throughout. There must've been hundreds of sculptures, drawings, and other creations. While carefully tip-toeing over various strange artifacts, I fluttered my eyes to ensure the authenticity of the situation. Following the woman's lead, I was directed to a stack of paint cans, and after a brief pause, Recipient motioned, which prompted me to reluctantly sit down. I was slightly irked watching the Fido relax on a lavish cushion in the background. However, my attention returned to Recipient as she returned to the only stool within sight. This action revealed a glorious image. The same aura resonating from her was pulsating from the ink on that canvas. Although strange, it seemed familiar. The woman didn't allow my mind to wander further when she abruptly started to speak,

"Have you become the new Courier, my dear?" 

....

Initially hesitant to answer after observing the intense expression this inquiry was conveyed alongside. I decided to completely ignore the prior question blurting out, "You're different!". I was mesmerized by how such an elderly woman could possess this unique aura. I had to say something. No one in the compound felt more alive than her. While waiting for an answer in anticipation, she responded with a labored chuckle.

"I'm no different than you child. I appreciate the lengths you've gone to protect the truth." 

And with a click of a button, a small vial containing iridescent liquid unveiled itself to be the item contained within the package. While in this process, I recalled my earlier review of the package's label. Watching her open it fulfilled my courier spirit; it would only open for the rightful Recipient, meaning this was her.

With my brows raised high, "Dido?"

"Correct, it is I, Dido," she replied. Noticing my puzzled expression she added, "Another question, perhaps?". As I contemplated her offer, the room seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly light, casting curious shadows on the walls. Or so I thought until I realized it was the Fido walking around a nearby lamp. 

Recomposing my focus on the woman, I nodded several times; for once my curiosity was acknowledged. I took a second to avoid issuing a barrage and started with, "What is Dido? I've never heard of that role before".

Conversely, her expression softened, "Dido is my name, the one my ancestors gave me. These are people you may consider guardians. It is my identity that encompasses all of who I was, who I am, and will be." Dido continued as she began to lift the vial; just like this capsule, the glass is my name, and the liquid inside is what that means." 

Her response was much more provocative any of those I would receive in Geta. I subconsciously began to rub the bandage covering my markings, instantly eliciting a reaction from Dido that caught me off guard. The crashing sounds of paint cans followed. Dido removed the arm cover, revealing my deviant markings, now glowing. She was clearly fixated on them before embracing me with all her aged body could muster. I was entirely mystified, but this embrace spurred a warm feeling inside that was calming. Dido composed herself; it was apparent I offered answers to questions that weren't asked. 

"You are Clay's junior." 

"Clay?"

"Yes, his true name, the one whom you may know as Courier". 

"Why are you the only ones with these names?" 

I flinched as Dido moved again; they wouldn't catch me off guard for a third time. However, she simply reeled back some of the clothe masking her arms. Just as I thought I couldn't be more astonished, Dido exposed them both, wholly covered with deviant markings. They were not only abundant but intricately developed with varying imagery. It was hard not to gawk at such a sight. Before she finished, I started to compare our marks and became just a little bothered by the apparent difference between them. Dido then raised and began weaving her vibrant arm through the room, almost as if stroking a brush while emptying the vial I delivered. The room was dimly lit prior to this. The drastic change in illumination forced my eyes to flutter throughout this atmospherical metamorphosis. They came to life.

"We all possess a name; look around you. These are their stories. Regardless of role remains the soul. Before or after exile, ad infinitum, I am Dido, the Archivist. The compound calls us deviants; I call us free. For without name, we are nothing but an empty bottle," she finished as the drained flask was crushed between the palm of her hand, shards shattered across the already littered floor.

Her words ignited the curiosity that had been neglected in Geta, and I found myself drawn deeper into her story. Slightly shaken but absorbed in her words and complementary theatrics, I stood in anticipation of her next progression.

While oscillating her arms, words I had never seen popped up all around, seemingly matched to a corresponding composition; she said, "These marks are an extension ourselves. As the one who remembers it is my duty and my will. " she concluded.

My attention was then directed toward my own exposed markings. I tried to concentrate hard on them. I was always required to cover them and forbidden to look. I realize now I forgot they were there most of the time. No visual comparison could be made between us. Mmmmm... No, while minor, the feeling my dull marks emitted was reminiscent of those strange hues. Dido could read the visual discord written with my expressions. Once again, grabbing my arm, she displaced me into her chair while reaching for the filled bowl. On her knees now, Dido dipped a finger into the mysterious liquid and simply asked,

"Would you like to know your name?"

She pulled her shopping trolley over to the side of the aisle and did something she wouldn’t usually do. She rolled her sleeves up her frail bony arms, which in turn revealed one of her tattoos. It had just been so hot and although she had hoped the supermarket would have been cooler than outside, the heat was still quite unbearable.

It wasn’t long til she was accosted by a shopper. “Oh yeah, still rocking it! Awesome tatoo!” The shopper thrust her own elbows towards her.

She struggled to focus with her impaired sight finally able to make out the names Skylar and Tylar scrawled in oversized italics across the forearms.

The shopper thought she needed to provide more explanation “They’re my children’s names they mean so much to me.” She continued in this vein sharing the true meaning behind the images on her body with her new found friend united by their tatts. At one point the shopper proudly pulled down her tshirt just enough to show the top of her cleavage. There was a dog, almost leaping from the top of one breast to another. Beside it was a date. “Aw when my poor Dotty passed, I just knew I had to have her on my body in remembrance.” The shopper only drew breath after she said she had other tattoos in private places but that they were too personal to talk about.
After an awkward pause the shopper said “What’s the meaning behind yours?” “It doesn’t mean anything. It’s a mark of regret. It’s youth imprinted on my body. And just like my youth, it cannot be changed. I can’t just rub it out. It’s there. Forever. “ She silently passed by the shopper’s trolley with her own, not looking back.

Leaning on the counter Waiting for the day to roll on by Somebody walks up I start my normal spiel “Hello, did you find everything okay?” “Yeah. Thanks.” “Hey I like your tattoo” “What does it mean?” I smirk for a split second Then the emotion floods over me My smirk fades “It’s a tattoo for my…. “ I pause What should I say without sounding stupid? “Friend” I stutter out “It’s the symbol from a show we both love” “Cool” They smile at me “Thanks have a good one” “Yeah you too” They walk out All I can think to myself is How stupid of me To ever get this Forever scorched on my body Even though he’s Gone At least it feels like he is Almost as if he’s buried in the dirt But no He’s just walking this planet Without me I trace over it with my fingers God I miss him 

It had been a long and difficult week. A week Taylor would really just prefer to forget. She had never been a big drinker but finding a bar with music loud enough to drown out her thoughts sounded pretty good right about now.

Grabbing a drink and snacking on some peanuts couldn’t hurt either.

When she walked in the place was busy. There were groups of people talking and laughing at the nearby tables and goofing off at the pool tables and dart boards towards the back.

The bar itself was pretty empty. There were a couple of men sitting towards the center, she grabbed a seat at the end closest to entrance.

She scanned the QR code in front of her and took a look at her options for the night.

She’s just picked her poison and is about to flag down the bartender to order when she hears a voice behind her.

“You know normally Toby keeps that seat free for me, the guy must be slacking.” A woman takes the seat to Taylor’s right.

“Didn’t realize the chair had your name on it.” She fires back.

The woman laughs it off. “It doesn’t, not really. Just not used to seeing anyone else at the bar that’s all. Normally only the regulars—so really just me and the boys down there,” she raises a hand and waves to the other two men sitting at the bar, they raise their own glasses towards her—“sit here. Guess I’m just surprised to see a new face.”

“Well if life didn’t have any surprises it would get pretty boring.”

“Well said. What are you having?”

“Uhh, I was thinking just a Long Island Iced Tea.”

The woman shakes her head at that. “Oh no you don’t want that. The old fashioneds here are to die for. You’ve never had one like it. They put brown sugar in it, it’s the best. Toby!” The woman shouts to the bartender, who turns in their direction. “Two Old fashioneds over here.”

Toby nods and gets to making their drinks. The woman turns her attention back to Taylor and they make small talk until their drinks arrive. The bartender sets the drinks down in front of them and Taylor takes a sip of hers. She has to admit it is pretty good.

“So, what’s the the symbol?” The woman at the bar asks, pointing to Taylor’s wrist where the tattoo sits.

Taylor’s confused until she looks to where the woman is pointing. “Oh, it’s not a symbol. They’re initials. It’s J P T,” she says as she traces the tattoo with her finger so the woman can see. “They’re letters, one weaving into the other.”

“Oh, nice! Yours?”

Taylor’s confused again.

“Your initials.” The woman clarifies.

“Oh, no.” Taylor says and she shakes her head. She feels slowed than usual tonight. She supposes that’s the alcohol’s fault. “Someone that I used to know. Someone I was close with.”

“But you’re not anymore. I’m guessing, judging by the look on your face.”

“No not anymore. But it’s okay, or at least it will be okay. I’ll be okay.” Taylor gives the woman a small, sad, smile.

She returns it. “Is that why you’re drinking?”

“No.” Taylor laughs at that. “I’m drinking because I had a shit week.” She takes a drink from her glass.”

“I hear that.” The woman laughs and raises her own glass. “To shit weeks.”

Taylor clinks her glass against the woman’s and they order another round.

“POV.. now why would you get that tattooed? Oh I get it, its like you hold your hand up and it’s technically your POV in the curve of your hand!” The stranger in the red rain jacket exclaims. They had noticed the black ink scrawl that sits between my thumb and pointer finger.

“Creative thought process, but that’s not it.” I try and offer a smile as I continue scanning their groceries. If I knew this tattoo was going to become such a focal point of conversation, I would have put it elsewhere on my body.

When I got the tattoo, I was being carried on the dopamine waves induced by a pressed pill of ecstasy. I was nostalgic, I wanted to tether myself back to her. After I had been physically separated from her by way of cut umbilical cord, I never saw her again. A doctor speaking a language I now don’t understand pulled me from her and put me on the breast of a foreign blonde woman who had big dreams for me.

This tattoo- It felt like a way to reclaim some ownership of my lost mother. It was really all I had of her.

One of the fluorescent lights twitters above me. I pull myself out of deep thought- They are looking at me quizzically from across the counter. “Well, what does it mean then?”

I finally look back at them and feel an unusual kindredness. I decide to be honest. “Its the initials of my mother”

They tilt their head sideways and take another glance at my grocery scanning hand, fistful of bananas. “You know, thats funny, my Mom has the same initials- well her maiden name at least. She changed her name after moving here to the states with my dad. She had a pretty rough time back in her home country. You know, I heard when she lived there, if you had a baby out of wedlock, you had to hide your pregnancy and they’d take your child…

"Hey," Brenda said with a wave, "Karma from Tinder, right?" "Yeah, and that means your-" "Brenda, yep, that's me..." she replied awkwardly. Karma was wearing a short black dress with white flower embroidery. It had short sleeves-to show off her tattoo, Brenda guessed. The dress complimented her long black hair and olive skin. Karma wore striking red lipstick and faint black eyeshadow. She was...well, she was really pretty-enough to make Brenda's cheeks feel like they were on fire. "Right, so you wanna head to the restaurant?" Karma asked. "Yeah, sure."

(Karma and Brenda walk to the restaurant and order food)

" You mentioned that you were a tattoo artist. Did you do the tattoo on your arm?" "You mean the one of the pie?" Karma pointed to the tattoo on her right arm. Brenda nodded. "No, I um got it done by an old friend of mine." Karma smiled softly as she began to explain the tattoo. "It's actually a blueberry pie...it reminds me of my old town. Before moving to the city, I lived in a pretty small town. You know, small businesses, coffee shops and all that. I used to go to this diner like every day. It served the best pie in town. This tattoo...it uh reminds me of my time there." Brenda hummed thoughtfully. "You miss your old town?" "Yeah, but I live in the city now and it's pretty great. Sure, I miss some things from back then, but there are some things I won't miss, you know? Two sides of every coin and all that. But enough about me, you said you were a florist, right? Tell me more about that.

(Brenda happily told Karma about her job-noting that Karma's favorite flowers were carnations-and Karma, in turn, told Brenda more about being a tattoo artist. They talked and ate happily for the rest of their date and departed in good spirits -the promise of a second date in the air.)

(A take on the dance of thieves book)

It was the third night that the Ballengers were helping to build the new settlement. They had only planned to be there for one day. It seemed Jase had taken a real passion for this new town they were creating.

The Ballengers and Vendans and the three Rhatan were sitting around the great oak again, just like they has the previous two nights. But this time everyone seemed to be mixed in a little more. When they first worked together it was like putting some near pepper. It was the same way it has been with Mason and Synove. Synove had chatted non stop when she was around him, just like with anybody else, and to everyone else Mason had seemed like he was sick of it. But that wasn’t it. He didn’t dislike Synove one bit. No, but Masons heart still belonged to someone else. He wasn’t currently loyal to Shiya anymore. She had ended things between them, the reason still unknown to Mason. He loved Synove’s company and chatty personality but part of him was still holding on to Shiya. He was tired of acting annoyed of Synove.

Mason sat by Synove long after dinner by the oak tree. All the Vendans were sleeping far from them, and most of. His siblings had already left. The fire was still dimly lit. They were resting quiet close to it, so Mason rolled up his sleeves from the heat, showing his tattoo, the same one all the Ballengers had. Except for Lydia and Nash of course.

Mason rested his head against the trunk, closing his eyes. He suddenly felt gentle hands running across his shoulder. He flinched away before realizing it was Synove. Her fingers didn’t leave his shoulder. She traced each feather individually. Mason only watched.

“What does it mean?” Synove said her gaze still fixed on his inked shoulder.

“It’s the Balnger crest. It came from our first ancestor, Greyson Ballenger. This is a version of the original one. All of us Ballengers have it.” Mason answered.

“It’s beautiful. When did you get it?”

“A year after Jase. Even thought were the same age, he wanted to get it a year earlier, at 15. He cried like a baby.” Mason said with a soft smile, memories flashing through his eyes.

“You’re the same age? So are you…” Synove started.

“Adopted? Yes. My parents were killed when I was three. Varylin took me in.” Mason answered while staring straight ahead.

“My parents were killed too. The queen took me in. Trained me to become Rhatan.” Synove said with great pride.

Mason look at Synove, realizing he never noticed the way her red locks flowed down her shoulders, and her crystal clear blue eyes. He grabbed her hand and interlocked it with his, kissing each ring that laced her fingers. She rested her head on his shoulder and they stared at the fire until they nodded off together.

I actually got this tattoo on a solo retreat. A retreat in Bali. This is where I went when trying to find my happiness, to live my life, to learn new things, and to travel to another country on my own. My tattoo represents all of this and more. It shows that I learned to stand on a board in the middle of the ocean and actually was a natural at what they call surfing.I’d like to say, if you’re feeling like you should try something new, big or small, just try it once. You’ll either love it or hate it and that is the beauty of it. It also represents that I Am Enough for myself. I am worthy, I can be me anywhere I’m at, and not to criticize myself so much. I have had so many failures in life, it’s easy to criticize. You know what’s harder, but worth it? Tellingyourself that you are enough everyday, that your life is worth living, and you are enough for those that matter in your life.

'I like your tattoo.' Waiting at the local coffee shop, the cashier said so while he is handing the coffee over to Joy.

There is no customer this early in the morning on a federal holiday, besides Joy.

'I see you quite often, do you work here? By the way, my name is Calvin.'

'Joy, nice to meet you. Yeah just the building around that corner.'

'Where did you get it? The tattoo. I've been thinking about getting one myself, looks really cool.'

'Huh, that was a while ago, back when I was in college, I don't think you can find the place anymore though. Its origin traces back to my family tree of being one of the nobelmen in Europe, actually several of my ancesters went to several different crusades. Until college I found this out and got the tattoo, which is actually my family crest back then, hm, quite exciting, isn't it? But now only memories are left behind.'

'So how did you find that out? Doesn't sound like an easy task at all.'

'Well, that'll be another story for another day, I got to go and start working now. Maybe, next time.'