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Night at the movies leads to so much more.

I was bleeding black all over it, but the end result was so much more than I'd hoped. The long, wispy tendrils of the thing wound up and down my side, seeming to want to envelope my entire body. The eyes had highlights, like they were actually popping forth from my ribcage and keeping watch for me. It was positively gorgeous and I loved it. My ribs throbbed and my hip ached from the intrusion, but there can be no beauty without pain, the way I see it. I shook his hand, paid him, and tucked my T-shirt up into my bra on that side, trying to leave it some room to breathe and perhaps staunch the bleeding. I walked back to my own apartment, feeling slightly sick and very emotionally drained. The experience was cathartic and wonderful, but the high was starting to wear off a little. I decided to eat something and relax for a while.

I peeled a banana and lounged on the couch, idly flipping through TV channels until something caught my eye. There was a documentary on UFOs on the History Channel (of all places) so I just left it on. If I turned wrong, the pain in my side shot straight up through the nerves like fire to gasoline. It took a bit to adjust. About half an hour into the program, I felt something incredibly strange.

My tattoo moved.

Now, I know it's not possible for a tattoo to move. It's just ink imbedded in your skin. It's stuck there. Sure, it can bubble a little and bleed and often does, but that does not explain what I'm certain I saw. One of the eyes bulged a little like something were pushing out under it. Hell, it FELT like something were trying to push out under it. I sat up (god, how it hurt to move so suddenly!) and gently touched the particular offending eyeball. It smeared some blood on my fingertip, but did little else. I must have been seeing things. The event was kind of stressful, and god knows the brain reacts weird to stress sometimes. I wrote it off and continued watching the program, certain it was just an overactive imagination. That still doesn't explain what happened later that evening.

I must have dozed off watching TV, but I distinctly remember something in the back of my mind talking. Probably the person narrating the program. He was talking about Area 51 and the routine helicopter sightings and then it was in my brain.

"Aren't you a pretty lady?"

I sat bolt upright, certain something fucking weird had just happened. Fuck, but it hurt!

I instinctively examined my side, but the ink remained stubbornly just as I'd left it. It was a little dry and I'd thought of it, so I thought I'd go give it a wash. It was just the trauma and pain messing with my head. That's all it was. Honest. I padded off to the bathroom with my clear, scentless soap and tried to wash the big thing. Being gentle with a gaping side-wound is totally as easy as it sounds, by the way. When I turned the water on to rinse, I fucking heard it again.

"Yes, a pretty lady with sexy curves. We like those."


I all but threw the soap down and went after my phone.

"Okay, dude, I think your tattoo guy just drugged me somehow. dipped the needles in acid or something," I was frantic, pulling my shirt off and examining every trace of ink on my side. My twin was not wont to believe my retarded story and she told me so. " You need to quit reading that shit for a while, you're just scaring yourself. Why couldn't you have maybe like, gotten something smaller for your first time?" She was clearly not as concerned as I was. "No, seriously, I am HEARING SHIT IN MY HEAD." I gestured wildly at nothing, starting to wonder if maybe she was right. Maybe I did kind of get in too deep the first time and was dropping my marbles a little."Look," she said. "I'll come have a look at it tomorrow. Keep it clean and dry and happy like he said. He's a good, clean guy who has never used drugs. I trust him. You are being stupid. Go read something happy and dumb to decompress." The phone went silent and I had no choice but to trust her.

A few episodes into South Park and I was re

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