Through my protective glasses I can see the moon collide into the sun while Johnny Cash sings Ring of Fire over distant car speakers. I needed an inspiration, an idea, a game changer to set me apart from the masses who wanted me eliminated. I understand perfectly, because I want them gone to, so I look skyward to the divine where the pagans and priests of long-dead civilizations found destiny.
The chilled air keeps most of my fellow solar eclipse spectators huddled inside their heated cars, but I refuse to dampen my experience, so I step to the edge of the cliff that provides a panorama of the landscape. I imagine the fire-breathing dragon that curls around my right arm keeps late Autumn’s icy touch from the skin underneath. I named him Lord Nafagen - he was a gift for my 19th birthday, though I’ve come to regret its lack of originality.
All body art fascinates me – tattoos, piercings, and even unique modifications like a forked tongue that bring out the inner reptile. The last is not my thing, but I respect anyone willing to do that while on speaking terms with their parents. In the years since I sat for my first tat, I’ve added new chapters to my narrative. Sir Ian McCellan stands on my left thigh, his arms spread to warn evil that it shall not pass. A large praying mantis wearing a Buddhist shawl pops out on the other side and represents my spirituality – though no one understands it.
I am normally reserved and avoid unwanted attention, but when I brought my son Oscar into this world, I realized I had to get my act together. Abandoned by his wretch of a father when he abruptly packed his bags and left for Guam, I’m all Oscar has now. My volcanologist parents were both killed in an eruption that left their bodies encased in burning ash. He would have loved them both, and one day I’ll tell him the story of how I got my stomach inked. That’s where they live now, smiling and embracing in the moments before the tragedy, my own way to remember them.
My phone’s alarm breaks my concentration with a harsh chirping sound to let me know it’s 5 PM. I turn it off and get ready. Only 11 more minutes until the reveal, then I’ll know what fate has chosen for me. There is an itch across my back, a blank canvas from my shoulder blades to waist, the unfinished composition in need of an inked centerpiece to complete my story. But this must be special, a symbol in perfect harmony within and beyond.
I tap on my phone’s gallery to watch a video from last night. I often record myself brainstorming, and it looks like I forgot to turn it off this time. All I can see from the camera’s angle is the glow of the computer screen reflecting off my face. My expression is dark and spellbinding. The video shakes briefly as I slam my hands on the keyboard in a fit of frustration, typing a flurry of gibberish into the search engine. I snort and laugh like a dying hyena when I notice the active recording. I pick up the phone and aim it at the screen:
enkht dha0l 5’rndur ẙOR lyht
The words are nonsense, but somehow exactly what I was searching for. The video counts down its final seconds. As I set the phone back on the desk, a large shadow starts to stretch across the bedroom wall. What was that? The video stops. A creeping sensation washes over me as a truncated shadow materializes on the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, a figure darts into view. I snap my head to look, but it’s just an illusion created by the dying light outside. Nothing is there. A rush of fear is flushed from my body as it realizes there is no threat.
It’s 5:11 PM. A final burst of light streams across the lunar limb of our moon, its 93-million mile journey complete. All the onlookers focus their gaze upon the unfathomable. As the eclipse approaches its full totality, the gradually dimming world plunges into the abyss. I open my eyes full to absorb this galactic moment and imagine its energy is full of the answers that promise me a new sense of purpose. A shrieking woman jumps out of her car and throws a wine glass into the air as she lets her excitement take over.
“Rachel, get back in!” a man yells from the driver’s seat.
Their voices fade as if I’m under the ocean and sinking, but without fear. All the tension in my body relaxes and melts into a pool of euphoria, then evaporates like a cold steam sublimating to every nerve in my body. Ahead of me by only a few meters is the edge of the cliff, yet I step forward assured that I am protected from any danger. I edge closer to the precipice, thousands of feet above the flats below. As my left foot leaves the safety of Earth and moves forward, it comes even with the eroded ground behind me. A rush of air envelops my body and my clothes balloon as they are caught by the sheer current of the drop.
Suddenly, I am back in my room sitting at my laptop. I see the words from last night baked into the screen, while the browser churns to resolve the requested address. The lights falter, abruptly filtering my vibrant pink walls into an uneven tone resembling flesh, while the air streams out the bedroom window into the cold vacuum of night. A ladybug is struck by the turbulence and falls from its ceiling perch into one of my slippers where it twitches and rolls onto its back, then curls its legs inwards.
Despite the graven shift in atmosphere I turn back to the screen, my virgin eyes transfixed by the immense gravity of a sphere cloaked in the blackest, deadest shade of red, like an extinguished rose. I mouthed an unintelligible compliment and slowly pulled my hands back into my lap. Though its shell was featureless and smooth, the dark energy underneath its rosewood hull spoke to me. It promised a glimpse of the design I sought - the final stroke of genius, and an indelible note to complete my sacred symphony.
Hunched over my laptop with only inches separating my face from the screen, I ignored the intensifying need to blink, forcing tears to form to flush specks of dust from my eyes. A message appears over the object and breaks me from my trance. It states:
You’ve finally arrived after your long journey. I’d like to help you with your centerpiece, Gina. This fine piece of work was crafted by the Ben ‘Zaa, the people of the ancient Zapotec civilization. It maintains its perfect shape even after a millenium. Meet me, tomorrow at this location in the city. 139-32, Crescent Dawn Avenue. It can be yours forever.
It knows my name!
My curiosity piqued, I made my way down the winding roads that seemed to go endlessly deep into the backalleys of the city. After a while I realized that my navigator was taking me in a loop, so I turned it off and parked my car. There were very few people on the sidewalk and none responded to my request for directions.
“Over here,” a man said, then coughed into his grimy hand. He was wearing a tattered leather sports coat and had his back to wall. A rolled cigarette was nearly extinguished, and it smelled of something stronger than tobacco. … When I approached, he flicked the cigarette onto the wet ground, extinguishing it completely, and locked eyes with me. ‘You look like you’re searching for something…irreplaceable.’
“Upon hearing the man’s words, a shiver crawled up my spine; they echoed the sense of urgent incompleteness that had led me here. ‘Follow the alley until you find a red door. Knock three times,’ he whispered, pointing with his nicotine-stained fingers. I nodded, a peculiar mix of trepidation and excitement pulsing through me.
I ventured deeper into the alley, my heels clicking sharply against the cobblestones, breaking the silence of the dimly lit labyrinth. Finally, a red door appeared before me, inconspicuous yet oddly inviting. I knocked three times, as instructed. A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing an antiquated library filled with towering shelves. The air was thick with the scent of old leather and parchment. Sebastian greeted me warmly, his eyes twinkling behind wireframe glasses.”
“Ah, you’ve made it! Please, let me show you something extraordinary,” Sebastian said, leading me through narrow aisles that opened into a large foyer.
My eyes traced the cracks in the floor until I saw it - the sphere sat atop a solid marble pedestal in the center of the room, gripping the environment in its deep red aura. Sebastian’s wide smile nearly cut into his ears as he faced me and pulled a square object from his front pocket. “You may want to stand back.”
With a graceful maneuver, Sebastian keyed the square peg into several invisible slots in the sphere, producing a loud snap as each inner tumbler rolled over. Then, like a bird’s egg at the cusp of birthing new life, the sphere began to fracture along previously invisible fault lines. The cracks widened, and the dark, blood-red exterior slowly gave way. Sections lifted and folded outward, akin to petals unfurling or fledgling wings stretching for the first time. The sphere had hatched, revealing an alien winged creature with wide, dull eyes that caught our reflections in the light.
To my unending astonishment, it spoke. “Enkht dhaol s’rndur ẙor lyht! Enkht dhaol s’rndur ẙor lyht! By the stroke of the lunar bell, you will either ascend or become bound in Hell.”
The creature returns into the cracked sphere and it closes around it, a red flame jet spews out at towards me as it seals it back in. I turn to avoid it, but cannot move quickly enough. I scream as lashes into my back and burns through my clothes, leaving an intensely acrid smell of burnt flesh.
“Enjoy your final tattoo, my child,” Sebastian says with a laugh, then darts towards an exit.
My mouth is dry and parched and the surrounding environment seems ready to expand towards me. I clumsily reach for the nearest shelf to steady myself while biting my tongue to redirect the agony. I see a nearby mirror and turn my back towards it to see what has become of my body. Yes, the charred skin has rapidly healed and revealed something. It is an image of me, or something that has my appearance, but not quite the same.
My phone chimes as a text message appears.
“You’ve no time to waste, Gina. But soon, you’ll have an eternity to waste. Only their votes can save you now: https://originals.inkedmag.com/2023/gina-8”.
End Part One