Stumblin' in

Kieran's thoughts about getting a tattoo had only begun to take root after his arrival in the city. As he walked its vibrant streets, he found himself captivated by the tattoo parlours lining the sidewalks, where artists transformed skin into stunning tapestries of ink. It sparked a curiosity in him, a desire to see what artistic magic could be woven across his own back. The scars that marked his skin were not just remnants of past trauma but badges of survival. They were a part of him, yet the idea of reclaiming them, of transforming them into a symbol of beauty and resilience, was increasingly appealing. He imagined looking at his reflection, seeing a masterpiece on his back and thinking, “That's me. I've survived.”

The thought of his parents' reaction brought a wry smile to his face—they'd likely be aghast. But he was confident his brother would understand.

Approaching one of the tattoo shops, Kieran's attention was drawn to a girl with short hair, engrossed in her sketchpad. He moved closer, intending to inquire about the process. His knowledge of tattoo etiquette was minimal, and he hoped for some guidance. However, before he could articulate his thoughts, she snapped at him. He recoiled slightly, surprise and confusion furrowing his brow.

“I’m— I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice tinged with uncertainty as she quickly offered an apology. “I was just wondering…” His gaze drifted back to the shop, his hand unconsciously rubbing the back of his neck—a stark contrast to the firm grip he maintained on his cane. After a moment's hesitation, he added, “Ah… never mind. I can probably find it online.”