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September 14, 2005

Volume 6, Issue 14

Today's theme is a photo.

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Photo from here.

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Comments

I found out I that had a twin last year. And that he was working for the enemy.
The blown meet left me stranded in Siberia. When I got home, first thing I did was hit a tattoo parlor, put a nice complicated eagle on my chest.

Worked for a while. Then he shows up in Kosovo with the exact same tat and perforates my contact. Then on, it's a race, the bastard matching me tat for tat. He's working with someone on the inside.

We'll get him this time, though. The latest one was actually done with water-soluble ink.

Posted by: Jeff R. at September 14, 2005 10:55 AM · Permalink

You wanna go, fella? It’s three-minute rounds, ‘til you can’t answer the bell. Bare knuckle. They’ll pay fifty to fight, but if you wanna fight me, I go all in. Hundred to the winner. All or nothing.

Am I any good??? Listen, fella. See this bum on my chest? Undefeated for nine years. They were ready to name a school after him. He lasted seventeen rounds, he did. Know what did it? Big guy like that? Liver shots. Short little hooks to the body, all night. He coughed up blood and dropped dead. That’s why the ink.

So, you ready?

Posted by: Mr. Parx at September 14, 2005 12:04 PM · Permalink

The photograph was buried at the bottom of the last shoebox retrieved from my father’s attic. This had to be Karl, the Brother No One Spoke Of.

Dad and Karl couldn’t be more different, Mom would say, “just cut from completely different cloth.” After Karl ran off with Daisy, the two never spoke again. I can’t imagine how Mom tolerated the humiliation. Daisy was the only woman my father ever truly loved.

On the reverse was an impeccably-caligraphed note:

Dear Tom,

Daisy and I would enjoy a visit, if you can come. We hope you are well.

Please forgive us.

Posted by: Matt Howell at September 14, 2005 12:06 PM · Permalink

Memory was not his strong suit. Hell, if he didn’t get himself inked he wouldn’t even know what his own mother looked like. Yuri sighed, folded his arms across his chest and looked down. His face would never betray the blood pounding through his temples and into his brain. But he knew what to get now. For so long he had been wondering what he could put on his flesh, longing for the needle. As he looked at the body that lay before him he knew, a teardrop by the eye would be a fitting reminder for what happened here.

Posted by: Brandon at September 15, 2005 5:41 PM · Permalink