Blind Sided
One
I noticed my right hand was the first part of my body to start feeling the tingling, pin pricking sensation as it fell asleep. Even after laying backside up on the questionably sanitary medical bed for a few hours, I still couldn’t get used to the mustiness of the air that seemed to seep through the dark, unwelcoming walls of the second rate tattoo shop. The environment of this place was enough to tell even the most avid of tattoo fanatics that the medical and visual risks weren’t worth the price of its convenience. But there was something about this place that made me stay, made me walk through its doors and tell the smoking, monotonous tattoo artist to inject a permanent stamp on my body.
There was something about the dull gray color of the sheetrock and the sturdiness of the stone beams supporting the upper floor that reminded me of my uncle’s shop. Maybe it was the hypnotic buzzing noise and rough vibrating of the iron machine as it sent the ink into my dermis that reminded me of the similar sound the power tools my uncle used and how violently they tried to sometimes shake out of his powerful hands. His implements were his faithful companions that he could rely on to accomplish any assignment given to him. I would never forget the fateful day when one of his tools, a piece of equipment he used to accomplish amazing feats, ended up being his demise.
~
I could remember sitting on the toolbox, the whirring of the power tools echoed off the walls as a speeder was slowly brought back to life, earlier it had been pulled through the shops large hydraulic doors with one of its engines dragging on the ground. Always quick with his work, Uncle Bronx never seemed to run out of energy, seemingly getting a new burst of enthusiasm with every new project that was brought in. No matter how big or small, difficult or easy, if it fit in the shop and had an engine, my Uncle Bronx could fix it.
The moment the wire on the crane snapped, the same wire holding the broken engine suspended in air, was the moment my outlook on life changed forever. I vaguely remember what happened, the actions I made through the next few hours. The panicked sobs my mother made as she attempted to move the engine off of my uncle, having ran out when she heard my hysterical crying, the flashing lights of the medical droids as the emergency vehicles appeared to the scene, people trying to shield me from the sight. But what will forever be engrained into my brain was the hair-raising crunching sound of his bones breaking as the engine crushed my uncle’s lower rib cage and pelvis along with the horrific look that came across his face when he started to drown in blood from the inside out.
~
I lifted my head when I felt a warm liquid starting to form and drip down the side of my back. The actual tattoo didn’t hurt nearly as much as I was anticipating, but the thought of the blood dripping down my side briefly sent a shiver up my spine that I could not hold back. The idea of it forming a small drop on the ground escalated to the memory of the small pond of my uncle’s blood that had formed on the floor of his shop eleven years earlier.
The rhythmic buzzing sound, which was once comforting, stopped as the tattoo artist wiped the blood away, finishing up his work by wrapping it in a bandage. As my thoughts drifted away and I became more aware of my surroundings, the fresh wound now on my back suddenly started to sting with pain.
“That’ll be 300 credits.” His dull voice said as I pulled my shirt back over my head, careful not to disturb the new bandage too much.
Taking his tablet, I transferred the amount over to his business account. The amount seemed a bit higher than his previous quote but I didn’t complain. He did do exactly as I asked him.
“So,” he started, slowly leaning one arm on the counter and giving me what seemed to be an attempt at intimidating me. “I hear the Galactic Empire pays you guys fairly well.”
We stared back at each other for a few long moments. How did he know I was part of the Imperial Military? I noticed his facial expression faltered as he realized I wasn’t backing down. Panic started forming in his eyes as I clenched my jaw, but without saying a word I made a second transaction towards his business account and harshly gave him the tablet back as I left. The feeble old artist didn’t intimidate me at all, but the location his shop was in concerned me. Even someone as ratty as that sentient being has a reason for being successful in the underground levels of Coruscant. Not wanting to find out if this guy had connections, I gave him a decent tip and left well enough alone. Some people just weren’t worthy of extra time.
Pushing the somehow-heavily used door open as I left I realized what it was about the tattoo parlor that reminded me so much of my uncles’ shop. It wasn’t the buzzing noise that reminded me of the power tools or the dull yet strong walls that mimicked the similar structure of the shady building. It was the strange feeling of regret and sadness that comes over like an unsuspecting wave when walking out for the last time.
There was something about the dull gray color of the sheetrock and the sturdiness of the stone beams supporting the upper floor that reminded me of my uncle’s shop. Maybe it was the hypnotic buzzing noise and rough vibrating of the iron machine as it sent the ink into my dermis that reminded me of the similar sound the power tools my uncle used and how violently they tried to sometimes shake out of his powerful hands. His implements were his faithful companions that he could rely on to accomplish any assignment given to him. I would never forget the fateful day when one of his tools, a piece of equipment he used to accomplish amazing feats, ended up being his demise.
~
I could remember sitting on the toolbox, the whirring of the power tools echoed off the walls as a speeder was slowly brought back to life, earlier it had been pulled through the shops large hydraulic doors with one of its engines dragging on the ground. Always quick with his work, Uncle Bronx never seemed to run out of energy, seemingly getting a new burst of enthusiasm with every new project that was brought in. No matter how big or small, difficult or easy, if it fit in the shop and had an engine, my Uncle Bronx could fix it.
The moment the wire on the crane snapped, the same wire holding the broken engine suspended in air, was the moment my outlook on life changed forever. I vaguely remember what happened, the actions I made through the next few hours. The panicked sobs my mother made as she attempted to move the engine off of my uncle, having ran out when she heard my hysterical crying, the flashing lights of the medical droids as the emergency vehicles appeared to the scene, people trying to shield me from the sight. But what will forever be engrained into my brain was the hair-raising crunching sound of his bones breaking as the engine crushed my uncle’s lower rib cage and pelvis along with the horrific look that came across his face when he started to drown in blood from the inside out.
~
I lifted my head when I felt a warm liquid starting to form and drip down the side of my back. The actual tattoo didn’t hurt nearly as much as I was anticipating, but the thought of the blood dripping down my side briefly sent a shiver up my spine that I could not hold back. The idea of it forming a small drop on the ground escalated to the memory of the small pond of my uncle’s blood that had formed on the floor of his shop eleven years earlier.
The rhythmic buzzing sound, which was once comforting, stopped as the tattoo artist wiped the blood away, finishing up his work by wrapping it in a bandage. As my thoughts drifted away and I became more aware of my surroundings, the fresh wound now on my back suddenly started to sting with pain.
“That’ll be 300 credits.” His dull voice said as I pulled my shirt back over my head, careful not to disturb the new bandage too much.
Taking his tablet, I transferred the amount over to his business account. The amount seemed a bit higher than his previous quote but I didn’t complain. He did do exactly as I asked him.
“So,” he started, slowly leaning one arm on the counter and giving me what seemed to be an attempt at intimidating me. “I hear the Galactic Empire pays you guys fairly well.”
We stared back at each other for a few long moments. How did he know I was part of the Imperial Military? I noticed his facial expression faltered as he realized I wasn’t backing down. Panic started forming in his eyes as I clenched my jaw, but without saying a word I made a second transaction towards his business account and harshly gave him the tablet back as I left. The feeble old artist didn’t intimidate me at all, but the location his shop was in concerned me. Even someone as ratty as that sentient being has a reason for being successful in the underground levels of Coruscant. Not wanting to find out if this guy had connections, I gave him a decent tip and left well enough alone. Some people just weren’t worthy of extra time.
Pushing the somehow-heavily used door open as I left I realized what it was about the tattoo parlor that reminded me so much of my uncles’ shop. It wasn’t the buzzing noise that reminded me of the power tools or the dull yet strong walls that mimicked the similar structure of the shady building. It was the strange feeling of regret and sadness that comes over like an unsuspecting wave when walking out for the last time.