Gambling and Tattoos

I may not have done a lot of writing this week, but I did manage a short piece for both of Tuesday’s prompts. They’re a little on the dark side, but that’s the kind of week I had. :-D

Prompt one:
Dampness lingers in the midnight air. Nearby, an unidentifiable sound pricks at your nerves, repeating every few seconds. Your breath catches in your throat as a long shadow cleaves through the light spilling from a street lamp just around the corner ahead of you. You consider turning back…what happens?

The fall air was damp and cool. Somewhere a clock tolled twelve as I hurried down the path. I shouldn’t be here; I knew that but the shortcut through the park was the only way I’d get there on time. I stumbled as a faint sound filtered through the darkness. Again it sounded, and again. What was it? Not a chime, not the bell from the clock tower…was the noise made by human vocal cords? Lord, I hoped so. The noise kept repeating every few seconds, growing closer. Or maybe it was just me getting closer to it. There – the park gates. I was almost to safety. The street lights on either side of the gate were the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. Suddenly I stopped. A whimper escaped my dry lips as a shadow formed in the light. Yes, taking the path had been a gamble. And I’d just lost.

Prompt two:
You are showering one morning when you notice a tattoo on your body that you’re quite sure you don’t remember getting. What is it, how did you get it, and what does it mean?

From all accounts it had been a wicked cool party. I just wish I could remember it. I remember Joyce talking me into going, I remember having a drink of the mystery punch, but everything was blurry after that.

I have no idea how long I was there or how I got home. And I certainly don’t remember getting the tattoo I discovered on my left hip when I woke up.

I made a few phone calls to friends who’d also been at the party, but their memories were as foggy as mine. Six of them also ended up with tattoos they didn’t remember getting. That made seven of us altogether.

It was Brian’s idea for us all to meet up to compare tats. At first we thought they were all the same but placed on different parts of the body – hip, thigh, chest, back, shoulder, leg, arm – but identical other than that. But Jackie, the artist of the group, noticed subtle differences.

Terry suggested we’d all joined a cult or something while we were high. I wanted to know what was in the punch, but no one knew who brought it. Then Simon suggested we’d been marked for something, but we laughed at his paranoia.

We stopped laughing when the first body showed up. One by one we’ve been killed, each time by a different method by all during the night of a new moon. Even though I’m under police protection I’m resigned to my fate. Tonight is the new moon. And I’m the last.