I'll Bow for Your King When He Shows Himself

Warning: This story features strong Atheist characters. I don't judge anyone by religion, and I don't mean to offend anyone with anything I say. It's just what I feel about religion in general. If Atheism isn't something you're up to reading about, then I highly recommend you don't read it. Thank you.

"Okay. Let me just go and start a sketch, and I'll come out and get you when it's done."

I gave my last customer of the day, Sophie, a small smile and escaped off to the back room. After turning the OPEN sign in the window off, I settled down at the light table. I took a clean sheet of stencil paper out of the desk drawer and began drawing.

Sophie told me, specifically, how she wanted open roses and vines on both of her hands, with beetles, bees, and butterflies surrounding the flower.

I pulled my hair up into a tight rubber band, the ends tickling the pack of my neck. A sigh crossed my lips and I began on the tedious sketch.

It was already six at night, and this tattoo was going to take at least five hours. That means it would be another late night. I knew my brother was going to get pissed about staying out longer than I expected, so I decided to call in and order Indian food so he wouldn't be too upset. He probably didn't eat or planned on eating tonight anyways.

I dialed the number for India Kitchen with on hand, while the other drew Sophie's piece.

"Thank you for calling India Kitchen. What can we get started for you?"

I ordered me and my brother's usual meals: chicken curry for him and vegan richa for me

I had been vegan for ten years, ever since I turned on Discovery Channel and found out how bacon is made when I was fourteen. You can give me the whole 'you need meat to be healthy' discussion, but I'd rather you didn't. I would just like to minimize the number of deaths as much as I can.

Forty five minutes later, Andrew's ring tone played from my phone and I sighed.

"That's a nice way of telling me you'll be home late."

I rolled my eyes. "I know, Andy. I'm really sorry. We had a late customer who wants a difficult fucking piece, in probably the worst place. So I probably won't be home until after midnight."

"Is she cute?" I could practically hear him smirking.

I wheeled my chair out into the lobby hall way, looking at Sophie. I shrugged. "I guess if you like trashy red lipstick and leather."

"Mmm. Just the way I like 'em," my brother joked. I laughed and slid back into the desk, picking the marker back up and continuing drawing. "Just so you know, you're missing out on an insane Star Trek marathon." Right on cue, I heard a huge explosion in the background and gun fire.

"Believe me. I'd rather be there, watching movies and eating Indian food with you." I sighed. I hadn't had a day off in months. Unless you count Sundays, which I don't.

"You used to love drawing," my brother said, growing upset.

"Well, ya. But that was before it became a chore instead of a lifestyle."

I finished coloring in the last butterfly and I held it up in the light to look at. "I'll let you get back to work, Carrie. Try not to be too late."

"Don't wait up for me."

And with that, the call ended and I was walking back out into the lobby. "Alright. Do you want to take a look at it before we get started?" Sophie took the thin paper in her hands and gazed, starstruck. I couldn't help but smile a little. No matter how much love for my art disintegrated, one of the things I always loved was that look people give me when they see what I think of. They look at the drawing, then at me, almost as if to say you did this?

"Oh my God, Carrion. It looks amazing," Sophie told me, close to tears.

I laughed. "Save the tears for when we're done."

She followed me to the back and sat down on the chair I set up for her. She straddled the chair and set her hands down on the chair headrest. "Thank you so much for doing this at the last minute. I really wanted to get it in before the funeral on Monday."

Yes. She told me the whole story. Her mom dying and how she loved gardening. The most I gave my mom when she died was the middle finger and a big 'fuck you.' I could never be able to devote permanent ink in my skin to that bitch. Not after what she did to Andrew.

I began mixing colors into the tattoo gun and wiping down Sophie's skin with a disinfectant wipe. "Okay. Now stay still."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I didn't get home until two in the morning. It had taken longer than I wanted, and I hoped that Andrew was sleeping.

When I opened the front door to our small apartment, I realized that I didn't hope hard enough.

My brother was laying on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table with a tub of ice cream in his lap. Star Trek VI blared from the small TV.

"I'm home," I called out, throwing my keys on the counter and my purse on the floor.

"Thank God. I am exhausted," Andy breathed, sitting up on the couch, putting the ice cream lid back on.

"That's your own damn fault. I told you to sleep." I opened the fridge and pulled out my richa. I didn't bother warming it up. I just immediately opened the box and stuffed the thing in my mouth. Paula didn't let me take a lunch break today, seeing as it was Friday, the busiest day of the week.

Andrew groaned as he stood up from the couch. He raised his arms above his head in a stretch and yawned. "But Star Trek," he said as he walked over to the kitchen counter, wheeling his oxygen tank in behind him. I glanced at him for about two seconds before I redirected my gaze back to my food. "Carrion, don't look at me like that."

After twelve years of seeing my brother and his oxygen tank, I still wasn't used to it. He was so frail and sick-looking that it made me feel physically ill. I set my richa back in the box and rested my hands on the counter. "I'm sorry."

"I just don't want you to keep thinking it's worse than it actually is," he told me, truthfully. A smile still lit up his face. That was the good thing about Andy. He never was serious. He was always laughing and running around that it didn't seem like he was sick. But if you take the oxygen nubs out of his nose, he will drain of life right before your very eyes.

"You're getting too old to be staying out past midnight, Andy."

"Oh, shut up. I'm only 30." He scratched the top of his head and yawned again. I rolled my eyes.

"Only on the outside," I said, smiling. That was the biggest misconception ever though, because he still looked about twenty five. Our family has this gene where we look a lot younger than we actually are. I was twenty four, but I still looked eighteen.

"That's the spirit." My brother flicked my nose and grabbed his pills from above the fridge. He took his dosage for the night out of the bottles, and drank a glass of water. "I'm going to bed. Now that I know you're home safe."

And with that, he was off into his room, door closed with only a crack showing through. I began picking at the knaan on my food and groaned heavily. I ran my fingers through my hair. It was getting hard to keep up with my brother.

I can't stay young forever. And neither can he.