The Legend of the Miracle Tattoo

-1-

As far as Nino could remember, he'd always had the small tattoo on his right wrist. He didn't know where it came from or why he had it, but there were no recollections nor photos of him without it. Not even his parents knew. They supposed that he had drawn in pen and it stained him forever. He supposed one of them was lying and had secretly gotten him tattooed as a child. Whatever the case, it was always there.

It was an odd thing - a secret thing. He had taken to covering it whenever he could, the oddity of its existence too much. He wore long-sleeves and sweatshirts, so much so that he doubted his classmates had ever seen his arms.

It's not like tattoos were illegal. Honestly, he hardly knew why he was so paranoid. It just seemed so unnatural to him.

Nino had spent years of endless nights staring at its shell-like pattern, tracing its shape in the moonlight filtering from his window. Sometimes, he swore it glowed once his lamp had been switched off.

He'd done his research, of course. In every book and website he'd searched, he found nothing of a child born with a tattoo. He tried to forget about it, but it was always there.

Whenever something bad or dangerous happened in his life, it was there, somehow miraculously uncovered. Once, he thought maybe he was cursed, but his logistical side won out and he concluded he was only clumsy.

Despite deciding it was harmless, Nino had always distanced himself from others. He kept his contact with outsiders to a minimum, only keeping close to his family and a few childhood friends. It's not like people were tripping over themselves to be in his company anyways. Except for one. One who always wanted to be with him. He even promised to marry her one day.

Marinette.

Nino sighed as he pulled the frame from his desk, gazing at the image of them together. It was the day of his seventh birthday, and she was his only guest.

He remembered the day vividly.

It was cool and crisp due to the autumn air, and her parents had brought her to his home at noon. Her deep black hair had been pulled back into bouncy pigtails, and she couldn't help but twirl around the room in her favorite dress.

Her gift was a drawing of their adventures, emblazoned on old wax paper with crayon and colored pencil. Though the tangible paper had long been lost to his tortuous brother, he couldn't forget the smell and the vivid primaries.

With a yawn, Nino fell backward into his mattress. He pulled his legs into him causing his backpack to slide to the floor with a deep thud.

He couldn't care less about changing out of his clothing. He felt at ease in his straight-cut jeans and graphic tee. Pajamas were a hassle anyway. Why make more laundry for yourself? It made less sense to him than his tattoo.

He was physically and emotionally exhausted. It was just like him to forget to study - especially when it really counted.

Midterm exams would begin an hour after he'd wake. How much did he cram?

Nino hadn't given any of his classes attention. Every second of the day, from dusk to dawn, the textbooks were out, the notes were bold. He'd skipped lunch and dinner too, which explained his growling stomach.

Should he have been pacing himself for the past two weeks? Most definitely, Were the three songs he'd compiled more worth his time and energy? Absolutely.

Just as he began to sink into his comforter, scraping sounded from his window. It was a quick, sweeping noise - the kind one could disregard as a tree branch or a squirrel.

There was no tree outside his apartment.

His heart raced as he stared out the glass, the small flurries of snow startling him each time one came into view. He sat in silence for five minutes, his eyes locked outside,