Her Inked Scars

a party

POV: Nyoka

Nothing interesting had happened in months.

That was until she moved into the shop front next door.

Ever since her arrival on the street and the opening of her tattoo parlour there’s been an influx of people down the street and I have barely got a moment of rest in the shop that I’ve worked in for the past four years. For the majority of those two years, excluding valentines day, I’ve been able to lounge around the shop for most the day, only completing small chores before sitting in the staff room and scrolling through my phone, taking full advantage of the free wifi meant for customers.

Now I don’t even have the time to glance at my phone before another customer comes up to the counter to purchase another bouquet of vibrant flowers. Couples frequently enter. Flaunting their love as they kiss, snuggle and smile obnoxiously at each other, completely ignoring my disgusted looks as they pay and leave the shop, arm in arm and hand in hand.

I have nothing against couples and being in love, it's just that love hasn't been so kind hearted towards me.

Even as the sky begins to turn warm shades of orange and purple and the fluffy white clouds are covered in a pastel pink, a few more customers still decide it’s a good time to spend ages picking out their own selections of flowers, even as I’m clearing up the shop, bringing in the large baskets and buckets and pots of flowers, who’s pollen in the spring makes my nose itch desperately.

With the busted broom that Miss Colleen insists doesn't need replacing in my hands, I wander around inside the shop, brushing away all the brown petals into a pile near the door, subtly knocking it against the ankles of customers still lingering and not even considering purchasing anything. They just pick up the flowers, sniff the blooms, and place them carelessly back into the buckets of water. I feign an apologetic smile towards them as I continue cleaning and they finally leave, the small bell above the glass door twinkling as they leave.

I flip the sign hanging from a thin string on the window to closed, determined to have no one else enter and disturb me as I scrape the last of the decaying leaves and petals, placing an earbud into one of my ears to distract from the annoying rumble of the main street not too far away.

I prop the door open with a heavy bucket filled with water to be thrown out and brush out the pile I’d gathered, my eyes catching sight of the gaggle of girls leaving the tattoo parlour, each admiring their new piercings and gushing over their tattoos concealed under their clothes and protective coverings to prevent them from becoming infected.

I can’t stop my eyes from rolling as they pass by, making far too much noise and squealing obnoxiously between themselves. It’s just something new put into your body, it doesn’t need that much fuss. You’ll regret them soon enough, especially the tattoos.

I tiredly prop the broom against the outside of the shop steps, struggling with the weight of the bucket nearly overflowing with old plant water. The handle crunches concerningly as I try to lift the bucket by it making my face contort in worry.

If it breaks I have to pay for a new one.

I grunt and mutter curses to myself as the plastic handle digs into my thin fingers and I drag it down the stone stairs towards the gutter lining the street edge not too far from the florist shop. I have to abandon my endeavour after a few steps feeling my fingers begin to go painfully numb.

My hands massage my lower back as it begins to ache from bending over to carry all the heavy plant buckets in the shop all day. I sit defeatedly on the step, scooping my long white skirt under my legs as I hang my head, taking my hair down from its tight ponytail on the top of my scalp. A loud sigh of exhaustion escapes me as my head begins to spin a little.