Ink

Meet Stacy Valentino

       Ink was all Stacy ever thought about. Instead of taking notes in class she would often draw up new tattoo ideas and obssess over turning her pen into a makeshift needle to paint her own skin. Fantasies of blood dripping down her unmarked skin and laying in a chair for days often distracted her from most of her interactions with others during the day. It was a wonder any work was ever done at all. Besides her painstakingly accurate dreamed up works of art that she had to have stenciled on unprepared flesh. While most people thought in a more linear fashion counting sheep branded with 0's and 1's to fall asleep, her mind worked a tad differently. Her nightly ritual consisted of staring at her human canvas in the mirror and meditating over the art and escaping simultaneously into one of her passions and herself.
     She justified it as not being self-obssessed or vein but rather having an appreciation for living art while ironically having ink run through her veins. Not only were her tattoos beautiful and different but all of them were still works of art. Somewhat like a moving artistic billboard for all of the city and eventually the world to see. She was admiring herself while others who walked by her or happened to strike up a conversation would occasionally admire how she chose to express herself. Some called it ADD but she didn't mind constantly being distracted by human art and always being able to love her body while most women focused on the negative aspects of there bodies. To much fat in the thigh region, b***s to small or to big, slight bit of acne in unwanted regions of the forehead, overbearing cellulite, excess flab under the arm, etc.
     None of this bothered her because she always had art to admire without ever getting out of bed. And she also had other problems and needs on her mind. Cash flow was declining and one of her favorite tats was due for a touch-up.
     It was time to get dressed for the rave...
     The acid freaks would be waiting for her product and she was the largest market in town.
     Money talks and bullshit walks and tonight was shaping up to be a bullshit marathon...

All of this ran through her head before she even rose from her bed.

The rave was full of the usual teeny bopper types and ravegoers looking for a fix and a great time.

 

       Ink was enough to cloud her thoughts with a multicolored pallet in between her pale white lobes. She craved that burning sensation on every inch of her body followed by skin-stenciled art that she would admire with glowing eyes every day in the mirror. That warm and fuzzy feeling like being held by a lover flooded throughout her body every time she showed off those tiny little gems strategically positioned to her liking. If tattoing was religion then her savior was a six foot three human easel himself, complete with multiple piercings and just a hint of effeminate quality that made him even more special as her one and only inkman. Sometimes she would even pal around with her closest friend and roam the French Quarter, frequently stopping in Orleans INk just to see her favorite new tattoo artist. More often than not she couldn't decide wether she was more obsessed with the ink or with Ritchie. Maybe she was in love with not the man himself or the constant desire to have her body marked by that hot needle, but the realization that if they actually hooked up she could one day be married to a man who provided her with a drug of choice unlike any other she had experienced. But right now that owuld all have to wait until tomorrow. The newest rave at State Palace Theater, being billed as "Your Parent's Worst Nightmare" was tonight. The themes to these raves always made her smirk.

       A sheet of smiley faced acid for interesting soon to be met ravers and a closet full of funky, grungy, gothic, and sometimes colorfully strange clothing was calling out her name. Potential customers always asked what the reason behind the smiley face was and she always told them to make sure to periodically look in the mirror throughout the night. A permanent smile for up to 8 hours could be the answer to world peace. She often practiced her Nobel Prize speech in the mirror herself. Most doctors would be begging her for the recipe and telling there patients to not exceed the recommended dosage of two in a period of eight hours. Most prominent doctors would tell you to take 2 of these and call me in the morning. That is, if an ethical situation was in progress, but what Stacy was doing was far from ethical.