The Artist

By @thepickaxecow

The Artist

By @thepickaxecow

a drunken man stumbles upon a strange building and a stranger artist

Chapter 1

“I’m so drunk,” said my friend.

“Yeah me too.” We had just come out of the bar, completely drunk, after spending our paychecks on drinks.

“Well, see you tomorrow, pal.”

“Yeah, see you at work Monday,” I said, stumbling off into the night. I walked for awhile until I realized that I had no idea where I was. “Well, crud,” I said to myself, knowing that I was lost. Looking around, I noticed a strange building in the distance with a sign that said ‘Drunks welcome!’

“Strange logo,” I said to myself, but I went in anyway, needing the help. Inside was a large room filled to the brim with paintings of people with tattoos. Sitting on a rather small stool for his size was a large man painting a portrait. Furiously peeking around, I saw that, in the short time that I was there he had panted a life-like portrait of me!

“Five dollars for the painting,” he said cheerfully. “Ugh, I would, but I spent my last dime on drinks.”

“Oh,” he said frowning “I have an idea.” Perking up, he said, “As you can see, I’m an artist, and as an artist I like to try new styles.”

“OK,” I said “Where is this going?”

“Well, I have been trying to get someone to let me give them a tattoo, but nobody will let me. They say that they don’t trust me.” He frowned again and hung his head “If I don’t get someone to let me give them a tattoo, how can I call myself an artist.”

“Why don’t you use an animal or something?” After saying this his head shot up.

“Oh, but it’s not the same! No! It must be a person.”

“Well, what do I get out of it?” I asked

“The painting, what else?” he said with a shrug

“Nu-uh. I need some sort of compensation.”

He frowned “Oh, you’re one of those, eh?” His tone changed. “Fine. I’ll give you a ten thousand dollars and the painting if you let me give you a tattoo.” My jaw hit the floor.

“Ten thousand dollars!?”

“Yes. Are you willing?”

Being unable to speak I just nodded frantically. “Well then, let’s get started!”

Pulling open a drawer from a desk nearby, he grabbed a tattoo machine and started to draw. Faster and faster he whizzed, the pain not even registering on my arm until finally he stopped, revealing the smiling face of a mysterious woman. “Thank you for your time, you will find the money in your bank account and the painting will be delivered in two to three day. Oh, and the way back to your house is left after leaving the shop. Bye!”

Suddenly I found myself outside. The sign was gone, too. “Okay, left it is then.” After walking for awhile I found myself at my house and collapsed in my bed, falling asleep instantly. The next day I woke up with a massive head ache, courtesy of last night’s drinking. Walking into the bathroom, I splashed some water on my face. Looking up I saw the face of a woman smiling at me. Rubbing my eyes, she disappeared, leaving my only my own reflection. “Probably the hangover,” I said to myself.

“He, he, he, he, he, nope!”

Shocked at someone saying something, I turned my head looking for the source.

“He, he, he, down here.” To my horror, the face tattooed on my arm stared back at me. “It’s rude to stare,” she said. After I stuttered for about a minute, the tattoo said, “Well, this is boring, see you later,” and disappeared, leaving me siting there in shock.

Since it was Monday, I had to leave for work. After getting there and working for awhile, one of my co-workers came up and said, “Hey, is that a new tattoo?”

Looking down it was back! “Uh, yeah! I got it yesterday.”

“Really? It looks nice! Could you tell me where I could get one?” After she said that I realized that I had no idea where it was, but it also made me think of something else. “Could you give me a sec?”

“Sure.” Checking my phone I nearly cried. A shiny new ten thousand dollars was filling my previously empty account. But I didn’t have time to celebrate as I heard a loud crash the next room over. Walking over there I saw that a large amount of papers had been ripped and torn. Standing over the shredded paper was the tattoo woman.

“Oops,” she said, then ran at my and jumped right into my arm.

“What is going on in here?” Turning around I looked straight into the eyes of my now livid boss. “Did you do this?!” he roared.

“N-no sir.” I said.

“Then who did?”

Taking a deep breath I said, “I think my new tattoo is haunted.”

His face turning red, he said “And the tattoo did it?”

“Yes sir.”

“You are FIRED!”

Well, things didn’t get much better after that. Every where I went, chaos would follow. And every time I would get the blame. The moral of the story is, don’t drink, don’t get tattoos, and definitely don’t take money from creepy artists who want to give you a tattoo.

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