Nora, 1980
The world was silent around her. She sat on the edge of the dock. The snow-covered mountains surrounding the valley reflected in the calm lake. Her breath fogged in front of her face while she watched the early morning sunlight coming through the tall redwoods.
She needed a new place. Peace and tranquility did something to Nora.
It made her sick.
The tattoos never lasted long on her. Always faded over time until they disappeared.
What a f*****g travesty.
She had the artist draw “hate” on both sets of fingers. The first time, it lasted six months before the words disappeared. This time, she was eight months in, and it was still there.
Funny, though, the brands from before were stuck on her forever. Some cruel twist of fate to keep burns but not ink.
