The Right to Choose

I love writing but I need all the practice I can get. I’m going to start publishing bits and pieces from writing prompts I get from here and there. These are not full stories and probably never will be but I use this to get the inspiration going!

Writing Prompt #1

You are a tattoo artist that has the ability to give people powers from tattoos you give, by using special inks.

I heard the bell over the door jingle.

“In the back!”, I called out.

I heard footsteps pounding on the marble floor as they got closer to my workroom.

Still trying to get myself organized from the day before I had my head down buried in my cabinets.

“You Lissie?” I heard the voice from behind me.

“Yup, you lookin to get ink?”

“Yea…Umm…tolle animam meam.” He said in a shaky voice.

I froze with my back still to him.

Shutting my eyes in frustration I replied.

“It doesn’t count if you don’t mean it.”


He spoke again.

“Tolle animam meam.” He said this time with much more conviction.

I turned around to face him.

“That’s better. Who sent you?”



He nodded.

I sighed.

“Sit. Tell me about yourself. What’s your name?”

“Daniel. Um, I’m 19. I go to school.”


“Winston-Salem State University.”

“If you want a fucking ram I’m not doing this.”

“I’m hardly school spirited.”

“Then what is it for?”

He looked down.

“I’m tired of people.”

I laughed. “All people?”

“No. Not all people. Just some people.”

“Gotta tell me more than that hun.”

“They’re mean.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Listen, Daniel, I can empathize with the whole bullying thing, really I can. But I am not going to suit you up with lethal potential just so you can pound down some idiots and call it justice.”

“It’s more than that!”

I looked at him.

“They humiliate me. Every day.”

He grew quiet, clearly thinking about what to say.

“Make me feel like I’m nothing. Like I don’t want to be alive. Death actually sounds hopeful. I don’t want to feel that way. But the idea of getting out of bed every day is excruciating. I try to look for any other option. Something that could get me out of it but there’s nothing. I don’t feel pain anymore. Not sadness. Not anger. I feel empty. There is nothing there to make me want to live. Then when Lukas told me about you, what you do. I felt something. Something like hope. Hope that maybe it doesn’t have to be this way. Maybe I could actually want to be outside again.”

I stood there. I thought about his words. I wished I could help him. But it was his words that told me exactly why I shouldn’t.

“Daniel. What this is. What I do. It isn’t revenge. It isn’t temporary. It’s a new life. A new identity. I understand what you’re saying. But I know exactly what it is you’re looking for and I can’t give that to you. What your power comes from, comes from what’s inside of you. That emptiness that you feel is a playground for death, destruction, and darkness. I give this to people who want to help others. Not hurt them. Lukas should have known better than to send you to me.”


“I’m sorry Daniel. I make heroes, not villains.”

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