Fine Art

Jack slammed his fists onto his desk. The computer screen in front of him glowed brightly in the half-light; he had been working late into the night and neglected to turn on the lights. What was the point? He was alone again, and had no desire to see any part of his unadorned, sickly pale body.

Some time around lunch he had completed his usual daily ritual of sending out polite emails to a collection of tattoo artists that he hope might fulfill his dream and give him artwork to be proud of. Again, as every day, each reply came as a refusal. Frustration gnawed away at him and that final reply tipped him over the edge.

He'd worked hard all his life and grown a small art shop into a well-known gallery that hosted works from all over the world. He'd poured blood, sweat and tears into his business, and he was richer than he'd ever imagined... However, he had neglected his private life and as a consequence found himself utterly alone. Of course he tried to find himself company, but quickly found that the kind of women who wanted to get closer to him, or more specifically his wallet, were not the kind that he appreciated physically. No, his interest in art had taken over his life so completely that he could find no beauty in anything other than adorned skin. The women he lusted after were covered from head to toe in colourful artwork, or intricate black and grey designs. Soon he had come to realise that his only hope of finding the woman of his dreams was to face the needle himself, and so his search for the perfect artist had begun.

When not working on promoting his gallery, he spent every spare waking hour searching high and low for potential artists he could visit to make his dreams a reality. Over time he collected a list of names, marking next to them what he would like them to tattoo on his virgin flesh.

Bob Warren (Big bob) - black and grey. A religious sleeve.

John Hyde (Dr. Jeckyll) - Neo traditional. Sleeve. A gentleman surrounded by roses.

Jimmy Miller (Jimmy Jammer) - Borneo roses.

Chris Gordon (Chris Coil) - Traditional swallows on hands.

Daniel Thompson (Dan the Man) - Japanese backpiece.

The list went on and on. He wanted some of everything; a little in every style he could cram onto his bare skin. The top spot on the list was taken by an artist named Jennifer Carr, who worked out of a small, private studio named Lucky Dice. He'd followed her work for years, and would religiously send her a single, flattering email every single day.

At first she had replied politely in kind, but as time wore on, her messages became more and more abrupt. Her most recent denial, which had prompted his outburst, had simply been the word 'no.'

He understood of course, in a way. He had been born with a hole in the heart, and despite having been treated as a child, he was firmly told that he should never sit for a tattoo. He didn't think it was as serious as they made out, but every single artist he had spoken to had been in agreement with the hospital, and so he remained as clear and white as porcelain.

He huffed a blast of air from his nostrils, slamming his laptop closed and leaning back in his chair.

Again. Another refusal. Didn't they see how important this was to him? How dedicated he was? He was tired of seeing the same old tired excuses. 'Duty of care'? Really? They were artists not doctors.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he scowled with his eyes screwed shut. It was a joke. Still, at least he had the gallery, and there was some comfort in that.

Not the public one, you understand. No, his personal collection of works. He'd been putting the display together for years, ever since his twenty-third birthday, and he was enormously proud of it. He had collected more than thirty different pieces, and each one held a special meaning for him. In fact, he had another that was ready to prepare waiting for him in his kitchen. He had carefully selected it; stalking the social media of his beloved Jennifer Carr and waiting patiently for it to become available.