I don’t think anyone really wants to consider where second-hand e-tattoos come from, but I do. In fact, that’s all I think about. Now, look, I’m not a ghoul. I didn’t plan on spending my days freezing my ass off in the morgue, peeling back skins like rinds. When as a teen I first sketched out sick skulls and slutty nuns, I didn’t foresee a life full of stiffs. But, I found out real quick that being a tattoo artist wasn’t what I thought. Sure, I could daydream about rad designs, but most folks already had their minds made up on some dumb shit. And, God, could they go on and on yammering about whatever stick was up their ass that day while I gouged them full of brands and licked boots, lusty lovers and Jesus, mistranslations and tribal chicken scratch. Yeah, I ditched all of that right quick. At least a corpse can’t complain. And there’s something mighty satisfying about separating the synthetic from the organic, almost like fiddling with a zipper.
That brings me back to my point, reused e-tattoos. You might see the certified e-cycler stamp on the front of a tattoo shop and think, “Must’ve had second thoughts, good on them for not wasting the materials,” but you’d be dead wrong. Returns only make up less than one percent of recycled tats. No, most of them come ripped straight from corpses. And believe me, a fair portion of them were dug up without that little old ‘return policy’ box checked on the liability form. A tit for tat if you will. But hey, that’s what pays the bills, best for me not to dig too deep.
Sometimes I wonder how ye olde morticians salvaged inanimate ink. Did they scrape it out from every pore? Did they grind it up or burn it all and run it through a separator? Pardon me young lass, but your limbs are in the way. I’ll just tuck you in, nice and easy. Sorry, they’re just so needy. Anyway, I really can’t wrap my mind around that kind of analog work. I just know my career transition happened at the exact right time. Some would say it occurred on the ground floor, but hell, it’s more like under the floor! Haha! I’m an undertaker, get it?
I switched right after the advent of digital skin, but just before the boom of screen sleeves, which killed the artistry angle altogether. At first it took legitimate skill to disconnect those fragile little tendrils, especially when someone was branded with a looping signature or some intricate pixelation. Now for the most part, thanks to those screen sleeves, I just hack that shit off with a laser, and voila -- except this cheap plastic bastard. Ugh, come on, gotcha!
Honestly, the hardest part of this job is when the cops come snooping around. Then I have a rough time keeping mum about my work, the bodies coming in at all hours of the day, the forged paperwork, sometimes I worry I’ll spill the beans, ‘ol Tommy boy. But then I just screw shut my eyes, remember to grin like a dressed cadaver, and think thoughts of the blessed dead. Eventually they do leave. Cops don’t like being here, I think they’re creeped out by something.
Where was I? Oh yes, e-tattoos. What nobody knows about them is that they all have a specific smell, a unique whiff when removed. I’ve processed thousands of skinned stiffs, and each one is a new treat for my schnozz -- Hm? What’s that, my dear? Why of course that includes you, but don’t interrupt while the adults are speaking -- I’ve only inhaled one that wasn’t my cup of tea, it smelled of a sickly sweet cheese, though even that had its moment.
The best always come from Ink Inc, plus their experimental designs and need for utter secrecy leave me a lot of room to enjoy myself. With them, I can huff the e-ink to my heart’s content, or, if I’m feeling a little risqué -- let’s be honest, this is quite often, I might just feel up a dislodged epidermis. Okay, I know, I get it, but don’t judge me. It started with my fingers -- I swear, just the tips! -- though I must admit that didn’t hold for long. Now my whole body longs for that … ohhh yes … forbidden touch. I’ve even thought long and hard about pilfering peel for the doll in my apartment, about how satisfying that would be to feel and smell and … Mmm … but I can’t get away with the Ink Inc stuff, not with their embedded trackers. Sadly, all the rest is just for the rabble, nothing for the to-go box but blasted trash, at least for a touchy skin connoisseur like me. I just have to suck it up and do the deed in the dark of my morgue, although it seems I’ve nearly run out of dudes to do … Oh well. It was a good run, yet all fun must end eventually, right? Plus, there’s always tomorrow! Still, for the life of me, I can’t recall the last time I went home to -- huh, what’s this? Is he -- erm, was he a priest? When I squint my eyes he’s like that stupid image of Aryan Jesus. I have no earthly idea what a priest needed with skin sleeves up his backside, but, well … Bzzzt.
Ahhh? Ohh! I had hoped once unzipped he would smell of communion, and yet he’s more coppery, like a true eucharist. No problemo. You don’t believe me? Here, smell his finger! At least he’s on the quality stuff. Now hold on there, old boy, let me get these pants unbuckled. That’s much better!
What the -- Who the hell is knocking at this hour? Better not be those goddamn pigs again, I don’t have a clue where I’d hide him, save the incinerator, I’ve got bodies spilling out the drawers. Oh shit, oh shit. If it’s them I am really and truly boned. Yes, hello, hi. Yes, yes, this is ReTat. Sure, of course! Bring it on in, and please watch where you drag those legs. Okay, oof. Right there on the table. No, no, the empty one. Yeah, of course they get heavy. Now, no -- hey, wait! Just sign here. Okay, thanks again! Good riddance, asshole. What do we have here … A surprise! Oh, me, you shouldn’t have, it’s not even my birthday. That’s all right, I’ll just get this stiff out of the packaging, slowly, slowly … Wow, this blows Aryan Jesus out of the water, like, God, I am risen. I think she’s … Yes, yes she is. She’s covered in screen skin. My Lord, I don’t think there’s a single spot left uncovered. What a gift to me, I get to unwrap the world’s first wholeskin. Come here, girl, my deceased lifestreamer, let me look at those lovely fingers. What did you say? No, I’m not crying, you’re crying! Oh? I guess you’re right, it is me. I’m slobbering all over them, huh? Sorry, my pet. Mmm, but your fingers smell of wine, such fragrant wine! Now it’s about time for my socks to come off.
But, what’s this? A red light? All functions should have ceased upon your death … What’s powering your skin, sweetie? Won’t you tell me? Fine, keep your fucking mouth shut then, see if I care. I’m going to rip you up, piece by piece, starting with those slender arms. Oh, yes, and how your scent deepens, develops as we move from your extremities. God help me, it’s like a spiced wine, oh my knees are wobbling! What a remarkable skin, I mean, it’s all delightfully artificial! There’s nothing underneath except muscles and ligaments! Oh my dear, let’s peer under those fat thighs, quite a treat aren’t we? But that red light is still active. I must admit that is quite a concerning puzzle.
Sirens! No, no, be still my heart. They are just coyotes in the distance. Ah, but that adrenaline has jabbed me with a sharp idea. M’lady, if you don’t mind, I think I will wear you. Yes, don’t you see? Your legs seem to fit me just fine, though there is a sizable difference between us. Hmm, they must be testing adaptable skin. Great for my business, really, nothing would be disposable. Gone will be the days of sizing and splicing. Oh, yes! This tender feeling along my rear and chest, so soft, like easing back into the primordial ooze. Ahh! And now for your, I mean, my face. Why, now I am whole! Don’t be jealous, dear, it’s not very becoming …
But those yelps, they don’t sound like wildlife now. Perhaps they are sirens after all … And they only get closer. I must dispose of these two bodies immediately. Burn them all, and let Ink Inc sort them out, I say! Haha, yes, they do make for a nice kindling, and do I smell Christmas? Chest plates roasting in an enclosed fire! Oh, how the smoke enhances this festive mood. But why do I dawdle? The sirens are nearly at hand! My God! I’ve forgotten my new skin! What the hell? Why won’t you part from me? I didn’t activate the skin, it should never … Is this what happened to the corpse? Her skin replaced, dissolved? To a mirror, a mirror! No, no don’t look at me! This won’t do at all. The police will know, they will read from my eyes, from my anguished mouth. And that red light! Still it burns bright like the bleating monitor of a dying heart. Could this be …? Was the device active the whole time? A livestream! Oh, God, now they knock at the door, pounding like my head. How the pressure increases, and now the hinges are torn asunder! Yes, come in, come in, see all that I have to offer. Oops, watch my legs! Hahaha, you may rip at me as you wish but I am whole, I tell you, whooole!
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