I shut off the television, staring at the tattoo on my arm. My muscle spasmed slightly, and it twitched, making me jump backwards. And in my panic I began to drink, downing a fifth of whiskey before I could think it through. But before I passed out, I remember doing one thing.
I set the camera of my laptop so it could view my bed, and I pressed record. Then I took four more shots, until I couldn’t remember slipping away.
And today, I watched the footage. Watched as the dark swirls of ink peeled from my skin, and twisting away until they formed an imitation shaped like my own body. Watched as it limped from the room, now as a torso with two stumpy arms, the collection of pictures and designs moving together in a single mass.
It returned with the light of dawn, holding a flap of skin with a tattoo on it up to the camera on my laptop so I could see the picture. Then it then pushed the skin onto my bare chest until they meshed together, and I had a new tattoo. A tattoo of a globe, one that I knew too well.
And I wonder what would happen when all my skin is covered by ink, and its template is complete.