Truth
Tattoos.
It was time for another one. It had been time for another one for weeks. My body was covered in them, bright, colourful ones that women loved.
My own personal story of violence and death.
Sure they were beautiful but wasn’t death beautiful? In its own macabre way?
Who was I kidding? Death wasn’t beautiful. I only told myself that so I could sleep at night. I had been telling myself that every day since I had first squeezed a trigger and ended someone’s life. Snuffed them out like a candle flame. That had been during conflict. A war where I wasn’t even sure who my enemy really was.
Now I knew who they were. It was a different type of war now, sure, but it was still a battle. Of sorts anyway.
Pushing open the heavy door, I scanned the large shop front. My eyes squintin
