PERMANENT // Michael Clifford

part one // "Mr. No Name"

Chapter one

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Michael treasured his tattoos. Each and every single one that was everlastingly drawn on his pale, white skin.

He adored the fact that every time he looked at the reflection he was never satisfied with, he wouldn't just see the body that was filled from the bottom to the very top with insecurities. He would see art. He would see the drawings and remembrances that each held a secret meaning. A meaning that only he knew.

He knew that after the agonizing sting would come a stunning result.

Not once has he had to think twice about his tattoos. Hence the reason he decided to get yet another one, in celebration of his 21st birthday.

He had willingly woken up that morning, ready to get another memory drawn on his left wrist.

He didn't groan or question whether whatever he had to do that day was worth getting out of a heavenly dwelling under the name of bed.

He woke up with a wide smile and a hint of excitement in every bone and vein in his body.

He got ready in a few hasty moves. Shower, teeth, clothes, breakfast. He crossed out each thing on the imagined list in his head.

As he devoured his typical breakfast, a bowl of cereal, he looked through the lengthy list of notifications he would tend to receive once a year. A never ending list of birthday messages. He read the infrequent long paragraphs people would send and the hurried happy birthday messages, sending each person a quick thank you.

His band mates had scheduled a night out for him and a few other friends, and they had canceled band practice for his sake, so he was free up until sundown.

He quickly grasped his notebook, where he had sketched the tattoo he wanted, and his keys. He stuffed his phone in his pocket and locked the door to the apartment he and his band mates shared. Once he heard the quiet click of the lock, he approached his car.

That morning, Michael had wakened sometime around 8:00 AM, a lot earlier than usual. He left the house as inaudibly as humanly possible, in hope that he wouldn't awaken his friends so that he wouldn't be the source of an uproar. An unwanted awakening with the boys would be a tragedy, and Michael himself knew it.

He carelessly drove over to the tattoo parlor, as he was too eager to focus on the road.

When he had stopped at a red light, he grabbed his notebook in his hands and turned to the sheet that detained the outline of his soon-to-be tattoo.

He smiled at the cluttered draft. He had attempted to draw an electric guitar –similar to the one that he played- with a few musical notes circling it, it appears far more badass than it sounds. He attempted to draw it, meaning it actually looked like a chaotic jumble, but he decided on explaining to the tattoo artist that he was awful at drawing and that he doesn't want his tattoo to entirely resemble his drawing.

He tossed the notebook back to its original spot, the passenger seat, when the street light turned green.

After an extensive 25 minutes of driving, Michael finally found the tattoo parlor. He searched the plaza's parking lot for the nearest available parking space.

Once he parked, he let the engine die as he swiftly exited the car, grabbing his notebook before shutting the door.

He walked at an unfamiliar speed, getting hurried glances from a few people.