I’m pretty big into Ink (yeah, I said ‘Ink’–deal with it) and have more than a few custom pieces. Even back in the day I would never dream of starting with a full sleeve as Dean MacAllister reminds… – Jim
The Flesh Trade
The Melbourne Royal Exhibition Building was humming on a crisp autumn
morning.
Day 2 of the annual Rites of Passage Festival had begun and moments
after the doors opened the hall was full of people stalking the aisles between
the booths. Nordic heavy metal boomed over the speakers, but before long it was
drowned out by a large buzzing cacophony, as hundreds of tattoo guns were put
to use simultaneously.
Ferret walked through the foyer doors, a large grin across his face.
He had always wanted to attend this event, but his unreliable mates pulled out
at the last minute every time. They bailed on him again that very morning, but
heād decided to go anyway. To Ferret, getting some ink was the ideal way to
show everybody that he was changing, maturing. That he wasnāt same kid they all
thought they knew, but a man.
He walked up to the booth and paid the admission. The girl there
smiled at him, her face full of piercings, and attached his fluorescent green
wrist band.
āHave a great time today!ā she said.
āCheers. Will do,ā he replied. Ferret showed the wrist band to a
security guard, who nodded, letting him past into the main building.
His heart pounded with excitement. He chose an aisle and began
browsing. Every booth he passed seemed busy. Half-naked customers sat on chairs
or lay on massage tables, as the artists outlined their stencils. The variety
amazed him, from tribal patterns to Yakuza koi-fish, classic sailor icons to
photo-realistic images. Artists from around the globe displayed their flags and
pictures of previous works. From Korea to Brazil, Mexico to South Africa, every
corner of the world seemed to be represented. The one thing Ferret struggled to
find, however, was an empty booth. After some time searching, he spotted a
bored-looking woman at a table and nervously approached her.
āAre you free to do a sleeve?ā
She looked up at him and sighed.
āDid you make a booking?ā she asked, her jaw working some gum.
āI didnāt realise you needed to,ā he said, embarrassed.
āSo let me get this straight; you just turned up here today expecting
a world-class artist to have at least six hours spare to do a piece on you and
you didnāt think you needed to book ahead?ā
Ferretās heart sank. He grimaced.
āI guess I didnāt really think this through.ā
āYa think? Good luck with that kid.ā
He moved on, shoulders slumped. Each aisle seemed the same, booths
occupied by customers that had booked in advance. One or two artists were
available for walk-ins, but they were only doing small tattoos; Asian symbols,
butterflies and things of that kind. The more booths he passed, the more
desperate he became. The more time that passed, the less likely that he would
get his ink done.
Ferret walked down the last aisle and noticed that the booths began
to evolve. He saw UV tattoos highlighted with black lights. Scarification.
Subdermal Implants. The artists were no longer piercing tongues, but splitting
them. No longer tattooing arms, but eyeballs.
Then he found it.
A red tent with a sign: Walk-ins Welcome!
He entered and was greeted by a large, tattooed, bearded man.
āDo you do sleeves?ā Ferret asked.
āSleeving? Absolutely! Sit down,ā the man said, motioning to a black
barberās chair.
Ferret obeyed. The tent was dimly lit and smelled like disinfectant.
There werenāt any photos displayed for him to choose from.
āI just want to get my left arm done. Iām not really sure about style
or anything.ā
āLeave it to me. Just take off your shirt. Thatās it. Do you want it
from the shoulder down to the wrist? Yeah? Not a problem. Now Iāve just got to
jab you with this. Excellent.ā
āIs that for the pain?ā
The bearded man laughed.
āThereās no point doing this if itās painless, is there? No, thatās
to prevent infection. You have some cash?ā
āYeah, I brought around a grand.ā
āHmm, thatās a little light, but we can work something out later.
Okay. I just have to strap your legs in like this. Good. Now I have to strap
your wrists too. And this goes around your chest. Donāt want you moving around
during this, do we?ā
āUh, I guess not.ā
āAlright, now Iām just going to pop in this ball-gag, like so. Canāt
have you making too much noise. Weāll get complaints. Iāll just bring over my
tools.ā
The man wheeled over a small table. On top of the table was a tray,
displaying a wide arrange of scalpels and tweezers. He put on some black
nitrile gloves and picked each one up, spraying them with alcohol. Ferret
started breathing hard, his eyes opened wide with terror.
A tall, pale, lanky man limped into the tent. He looked at Ferret
with surprise. Ferret yelled at him for help, but the gag silenced him.
āWhatās this then?ā he asked.
āTrevor! Just in time. This little guy is a champion! Not a single
piercing or tattoo on him and he wants to jump straight into sleeving. Can you
believe it?ā
āSerious? Can I watch?ā
āSure, but sit over there. Iām about to start.ā
The bearded artist picked up a scalpel and held it to the light.
Ferret shook his head and let out a muffled scream.
āRelax young man. Iām a professional.ā
He slid a bucket under the armrest with his foot. Holding the scalpel
like a pen, he carefully pressed it into Ferretās shoulder, running it carefully
along to the armpit.
Ferret tried to struggle, but was tied down tight. Tears and sweat
ran down his face. Blood ran down his arm into the bucket.
āOK. I think weāre ready. Iāll try to do this as quickly as possible,
like a band-aid. One. Two. Three!ā
The man grabbed Ferretās skin with two pairs of tweezers and began to
peel.
Dean MacAllister is a mammal that lives in Melbourne, Australia. He is a seasoned world traveller, scuba diver and avid lover of writing and reading fiction. He has been previously published in multiple magazines and writing competitions worldwide, including EWR, WWC, Weirdbook and his first novel āThe Misadventures of a Reluctant Travellerā is now available on Amazon. For more of his works make sure you check outĀ Deanmacallister.com