Wanting a Tattoo

Wanting a tattoo.

I had told Brandon to meet me by that sharp corner on Walker Street yesterday. As he arrived late again, explaining what happened to him, He knew by the dull look on my face that I didn’t care. On our way to the café, a jacked muscular guy walks out of Marvins tattoo studio with a full sleeve tattoo, that’s when my eyes flashed.

The world had slowly stopped in front of my eyes, and it felt like I was beamed into the tattoo.  On his broad shoulder lied the great pyramids. That’s when I remembered the movie Transformers and was put into the movie. I was being tossed around by the Autobots, living the war with unimaginable experiences. Unhuman weaponry piercing through the blazing hot air, striking the robots, with bolts and screws shatter as they get destroyed. As for me, I was trying to hide beside the enormous pyramid when a transformer scooped me from the floor and turned into an up-to-the-minute car, because of the avalanche of rocks that had been falling from the pyramids.

Taken to a point in history, hearing the crowd roar, I knew I was under the colosseum. It was inked right under the pyramids, by his triceps. Holding the sharp shinning gladius in my right hand and the broad wooden shield in my left was exiting. I had remembered Spartacus as I entered the arena with flowers falling from the horde of people, thirsting for blood to be splattered. It was time to face my opponent; the great champion of Rome. He stood a giant with hands the size of my shield, my legs began to shake with fear as he stormed his way towards me. The fight began when his blade clashed against mine. I carved my sword into his flesh a few times noticing how slow and non-defensive he was. Thus weakening him till my blade severed his head from his body, hearing he liveliness of the horde cheer my name “Champion of Rome”.

Placed on a road of old stone and rock all alone wasn’t the best of experiences. The Great Wall of China, printed around his elbow was mostly interesting. I had never had any real memory or remembrance of the place, other than a dream that was reopened at that very second in time. My brother and I, each on other protracted ends of the wall, couldn’t get to one another. The days were long from walking and loner in the freezing nights. The struggle of finding something to put into my mouth was devastating. I wondered how my brother would be doing as I heard his chants from a far, as we both walked everyday with blistered feet. I couldn’t handle walking any longer, wrapping my shirt around my bleeding feet. My own reeking body made it difficult to smell and the inability to taste with chopped lips oozing out blood from thirst had waked me up from my slumber.