Greetings everyone. This weeks prompt pic is from Picture it and Write at Ermilia’s Blog here.
Alexandria waited to come of age, she longed for the day when she could have her first ‘ink’.
Not having many friends throughout her school years, she was timid child and teenager, lacking the self-confidence of other girls her own age, she so desperately wanted to fit in. Once she commenced college, her aim, apart from trying to achieve the best possible marks, was the need to be one of the ‘cool’ group and having her unmarked porcelain skin woven with a tapestry of colour, she hoped that this would be her invitation into their fold, that she would be accepted, that she would be one of them.
Alexandria felt alone, each night crying herself to sleep in the confines of her dark and silent bedroom she dreamt of having the friends she always wanted, but never had.
For when Alexandria looked in the mirror she didn’t see a pretty girl looking back at her, she had nice coloured hair, but she couldn’t see any beauty in her features, she felt herself too thin, gangly and awkward . Her grades were always excellent, but lacking a social circle made her withdraw into her own small world too often than was healthy. Her artwork changed that, each one gave her more confidence, each held a story that made her feel prettier than she had every thought she could be, and each more elaborate than the last. She was addicted to them as a heroin addict was addicted to their own brand of needle.
She would lie or sometimes sit crouched over the chair her arms folded in front of her in the Tattoo parlour, her back exposed and she dealt with the pain as the needle pierced her delicate skin for hours at a time, she accepted the redness and the swelling and applying the cream daily as to not let them become infected. She grew accustomed to the sting of the needle and with every one she had, she wanted more.
Her parents hated them and tried in vain to talk her out of her constant obsession for marking. There were arguments a plenty, telling her that people would frown upon her and call her cheap or worse ‘sluttish’ for being branded. Her mother pleaded constantly, saying that although she may think that they were beautiful now, how would she look in sixty years time when her skin started to wrinkle, when the colour faded, would they look so pretty then?
Alexandria knew she was not cheap or sluttish and she also knew this was only her parent’s way of trying to deter her, but she would not be dissuaded. She thought of when she would grow old and how her skin would wrinkle but she knew how proud she was of her markings now and knew as she aged that she would feel the same way. Proud that she was an individual, regardless of what others may say or think about her appearance.
For in her eyes, these are what made her beautiful, they were a stepping stone into a life that she wanted more than anything, to feel attractive, not to be ostracised because of her awkwardness or her timid nature, to have a sense of belonging. She was young and she lived for the here and now.
Yes, Alexandria marched to the beat of her own drum, regardless of her parents opinions. Her markings made her feel special and more alive than she thought possible. She cared not that she was changing herself, this is who she was and wanted to be.