Congratulations !
You have been awarded points.
Thank you for !
- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Crime
- Published: 10/09/2020
The Inscription
Born 1948, F, from Epping. Essex, United Kingdom.jpeg)
The Inscription
By Kristin Dockar
Camden, December 2016
The police had released the body for burial that morning. Now it was washed and laid out ready for the funeral. It was only the gash across the side of the head that looked out of place. That and the long cut along the throat. They would put make up on that later.
The two men tending to it looked in awe.
‘Have you ever seen anything like it?’
‘Never’.
‘It’s more of an inscription than a tattoo’.
‘You’re right, Bill. Let’s have another look’.
‘Careful there Dave’.
They rolled the body onto its side and looked at the gothic writing scrawled across the shoulder blades:
‘To Ed, thanks for all the many years of service’.
It was surreal, and very spooky. Both men were taken aback at what they were seeing.
‘What did the police say?’
‘Not much but I gather they are looking for whoever wrote it. It’s not a proper tattoo and it’s recently done’.
Chancery Lane, December 2016
James sat in his legal chambers with his head in his hands. He tried to think a little more clearly about the last few days. He knew the police had found the body, knew there had been a post-mortem and knew that the police were not that bothered. Just another rent boy met a wicked end. It was helpful to be working in the law courts. You heard all the gossip.
He thought back to see if there was anything he had missed. He had cleaned away the blood from himself and binned the pens and ink. All the clothes from that night had gone. He had machine washed them in a launderette and then packed them in a bag and left them outside a charity shop. His shoes had gone into a recycling bin behind a supermarket.
He still could not believe that a happy evening had gone so wrong. Was it only six days ago?
They had been so drunk when they passed the tattoo parlour and James sai, 'I’ve never wanted one of those’.
Ed had replied ‘Well I’ve always fancied one’.
How they had laughed.
Ed had known James for the last six years. They met when Ed was a rent boy working around the back streets of Piccadilly. James had pulled up in his flash car and wound the window down.
‘You working?’ he’d said to Ed.
Mockingly. Ed had said ‘How can I be of service sir?’.
The way he said it was so sexy.
Now, tonight, the pair wandered happily down to the tube station, and drunkenly James said, ‘I’ll give you one’.
‘I beg your pardon’ said Ed and raised an eyebrow.
‘A tattoo, you fool’ James laughed.
‘No seriously, when we get home, I’ll do you one’ and off they had gone again at another innuendo.
‘I’ve seen how they do it. You just need some pens and dye. We’ll get henna. It’s not permanent’.
‘What are you saying, that my service is finished?’ roared Ed, and off they had gone again, laughing, and laughing as they went down to the train.
As they had travelled back to Ed’s place on the tube the two men tried very hard not to look a couple. They were very wary these days.
Both men were handsome, but James was much older. They could have been taken for father and son except the body language showed something very different. They were turned into each other and there was a strong sense of chemistry between them. James had his arm along the back of the Ed’s seat. It wasn’t round him, but it was very close. The real give away was the way they looked into each other’s eyes. It was easy to see how close they were.
But James noticed the woman opposite them glancing and he removed his arm.
They came up out of the tube and wandered along drunk but relaxed and happy. They had popped into a shop on Camden High Street which sold Henna Paste. James had asked the girl who served them, ‘How do you apply this?’ which had set them both off giggling again.
‘Just like you are writing, but on skin, instead of paper’ she replied, ‘It dries in 10 minutes’.
When they got in Ed said, ‘Come on then, lay your mark on me’ and he removed his shirt and laid face down on the sofa.
James got out the pens and henna and carefully marked out the words with felt tip pen first.
‘What are you going to write?’
‘Shut up and think of England. It will be a surprise’.
All the time James was working he had been silently shaking with laughter.
The argument had erupted out of nowhere. James had just finished and told Ed he was not to look until it was properly dry. They drank another beer and James casually asked:
‘How’s work going?’
Ed could never settle to anything for long and had recently changed jobs. He was now working in yet another bar in Camden.
‘I like it. It’s lively and there’s plenty of punters’.
James swung round and said ‘I hope you mean the ‘buying of drinks’ type of punters’.
‘No’ replied Ed ‘the usual type of punters’.
‘You don’t mean you still take on other men.’
‘Well, of course I do. It means nothing, takes about 10 minutes and the money’s good’.
James had slowly let out a long tense breath and leaned back in his chair.
‘But I thought you were faithful. I thought you were happy, content’.
‘I am. But work is work. Anyway, let’s look at the inscription’.
James looked carefully at Ed.
’Well it now seems very, very appropriate. I thought all these years that you cared for me, but it seems you were just doing me a service’.
‘Don’t be daft. You know it’s been good.’
It was the sheer casualness of Ed that finally did it for James. For the first time in many years he saw the rent boy he had brought home. He also saw how he had blinded himself to many truths. It was Ed’s next words that made him completely lose control.
‘Nothing’s forever. You knew what I was. I’m surprised that you thought I would ever really change.’
Before he knew it, James had picked up the beer bottle and swung it at Ed’s head. It caught the side, just above his eye and Ed had fallen to the ground, blood streaming from the wound. He wasn’t dead then, but he was when James cut his throat with the jagged edge of the bottle.
Now James sat thinking of the horror he had created. He was terrified. Great heaving sobs and gasps of panic kept coming up through his body. He was a QC, atop Barrister. He knew how it all worked. The police would find him.
He drunk glass after glass of whisky, but nothing numbed the pain. It was knowing that he had changed, fallen in love, but Ed had just remained the same.
James wandered out into the night, walking up to Holborn station where he took the tube back to Piccadilly. He found a tattoo shop and went in. People in the shop looked at him. He made a strange sight. A burly man, late fifties, wearing a pin striped suit. He instructed these words to be inscribed across his shoulder blades:
‘This is where it all started, and this is where it will end’.
The tattooist showed no interest whatsoever. Just got on with the job.
When he had finished James paid him and walked off into the night. His whole back felt like it was on fire.
He walked on slowly down to the river and over to Westminster Bridge where he climbed the parapet and jumped off.
The Inscription(Kristin Dockar)
The Inscription
By Kristin Dockar
Camden, December 2016
The police had released the body for burial that morning. Now it was washed and laid out ready for the funeral. It was only the gash across the side of the head that looked out of place. That and the long cut along the throat. They would put make up on that later.
The two men tending to it looked in awe.
‘Have you ever seen anything like it?’
‘Never’.
‘It’s more of an inscription than a tattoo’.
‘You’re right, Bill. Let’s have another look’.
‘Careful there Dave’.
They rolled the body onto its side and looked at the gothic writing scrawled across the shoulder blades:
‘To Ed, thanks for all the many years of service’.
It was surreal, and very spooky. Both men were taken aback at what they were seeing.
‘What did the police say?’
‘Not much but I gather they are looking for whoever wrote it. It’s not a proper tattoo and it’s recently done’.
Chancery Lane, December 2016
James sat in his legal chambers with his head in his hands. He tried to think a little more clearly about the last few days. He knew the police had found the body, knew there had been a post-mortem and knew that the police were not that bothered. Just another rent boy met a wicked end. It was helpful to be working in the law courts. You heard all the gossip.
He thought back to see if there was anything he had missed. He had cleaned away the blood from himself and binned the pens and ink. All the clothes from that night had gone. He had machine washed them in a launderette and then packed them in a bag and left them outside a charity shop. His shoes had gone into a recycling bin behind a supermarket.
He still could not believe that a happy evening had gone so wrong. Was it only six days ago?
They had been so drunk when they passed the tattoo parlour and James sai, 'I’ve never wanted one of those’.
Ed had replied ‘Well I’ve always fancied one’.
How they had laughed.
Ed had known James for the last six years. They met when Ed was a rent boy working around the back streets of Piccadilly. James had pulled up in his flash car and wound the window down.
‘You working?’ he’d said to Ed.
Mockingly. Ed had said ‘How can I be of service sir?’.
The way he said it was so sexy.
Now, tonight, the pair wandered happily down to the tube station, and drunkenly James said, ‘I’ll give you one’.
‘I beg your pardon’ said Ed and raised an eyebrow.
‘A tattoo, you fool’ James laughed.
‘No seriously, when we get home, I’ll do you one’ and off they had gone again at another innuendo.
‘I’ve seen how they do it. You just need some pens and dye. We’ll get henna. It’s not permanent’.
‘What are you saying, that my service is finished?’ roared Ed, and off they had gone again, laughing, and laughing as they went down to the train.
As they had travelled back to Ed’s place on the tube the two men tried very hard not to look a couple. They were very wary these days.
Both men were handsome, but James was much older. They could have been taken for father and son except the body language showed something very different. They were turned into each other and there was a strong sense of chemistry between them. James had his arm along the back of the Ed’s seat. It wasn’t round him, but it was very close. The real give away was the way they looked into each other’s eyes. It was easy to see how close they were.
But James noticed the woman opposite them glancing and he removed his arm.
They came up out of the tube and wandered along drunk but relaxed and happy. They had popped into a shop on Camden High Street which sold Henna Paste. James had asked the girl who served them, ‘How do you apply this?’ which had set them both off giggling again.
‘Just like you are writing, but on skin, instead of paper’ she replied, ‘It dries in 10 minutes’.
When they got in Ed said, ‘Come on then, lay your mark on me’ and he removed his shirt and laid face down on the sofa.
James got out the pens and henna and carefully marked out the words with felt tip pen first.
‘What are you going to write?’
‘Shut up and think of England. It will be a surprise’.
All the time James was working he had been silently shaking with laughter.
The argument had erupted out of nowhere. James had just finished and told Ed he was not to look until it was properly dry. They drank another beer and James casually asked:
‘How’s work going?’
Ed could never settle to anything for long and had recently changed jobs. He was now working in yet another bar in Camden.
‘I like it. It’s lively and there’s plenty of punters’.
James swung round and said ‘I hope you mean the ‘buying of drinks’ type of punters’.
‘No’ replied Ed ‘the usual type of punters’.
‘You don’t mean you still take on other men.’
‘Well, of course I do. It means nothing, takes about 10 minutes and the money’s good’.
James had slowly let out a long tense breath and leaned back in his chair.
‘But I thought you were faithful. I thought you were happy, content’.
‘I am. But work is work. Anyway, let’s look at the inscription’.
James looked carefully at Ed.
’Well it now seems very, very appropriate. I thought all these years that you cared for me, but it seems you were just doing me a service’.
‘Don’t be daft. You know it’s been good.’
It was the sheer casualness of Ed that finally did it for James. For the first time in many years he saw the rent boy he had brought home. He also saw how he had blinded himself to many truths. It was Ed’s next words that made him completely lose control.
‘Nothing’s forever. You knew what I was. I’m surprised that you thought I would ever really change.’
Before he knew it, James had picked up the beer bottle and swung it at Ed’s head. It caught the side, just above his eye and Ed had fallen to the ground, blood streaming from the wound. He wasn’t dead then, but he was when James cut his throat with the jagged edge of the bottle.
Now James sat thinking of the horror he had created. He was terrified. Great heaving sobs and gasps of panic kept coming up through his body. He was a QC, atop Barrister. He knew how it all worked. The police would find him.
He drunk glass after glass of whisky, but nothing numbed the pain. It was knowing that he had changed, fallen in love, but Ed had just remained the same.
James wandered out into the night, walking up to Holborn station where he took the tube back to Piccadilly. He found a tattoo shop and went in. People in the shop looked at him. He made a strange sight. A burly man, late fifties, wearing a pin striped suit. He instructed these words to be inscribed across his shoulder blades:
‘This is where it all started, and this is where it will end’.
The tattooist showed no interest whatsoever. Just got on with the job.
When he had finished James paid him and walked off into the night. His whole back felt like it was on fire.
He walked on slowly down to the river and over to Westminster Bridge where he climbed the parapet and jumped off.
- Share this story on
- 8
.jpeg)
JD
10/30/2022congratulations on a well deserved month of being the chosen one, kristin! (short story writer of the month) thank you for all the outstanding stories you've shared with us over the years.... :-)
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Kristin Dockar
10/30/2022It has been my pleasure. I'm so glad to have a place to post my stories. Thank you.
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Kevin Hughes
01/04/2021Congrats Kristin!
Just from the thread you can tell we all thought you deserved an Award for this...and doggone if you didn't get one!
Happy New Year!
Smiles, Kevin
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Kristin Dockar
01/04/2021Thank you Kevin. I did enjoy writing this one.
Happy New Year to you and your loved ones.
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Aziz
01/04/2021Congratulations on being selected the writer of the week by this beautiful work. I remember well when I read it the first time and how the same impression remained while reading it again.
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Kristin Dockar
01/04/2021Thank you. What a joy it is to enjoy writing. It means you always have something to think about in these difficult times.
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Aziz
11/02/2020Richly deserved Kristin. Your stories enrich the repertoire of storystar and your touch is so noticeable. I do enjoy reading your stories and I appreciate the interest you show to the works of the other writers.
Congratulations
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Kristin Dockar
11/03/2020Thank you. I'm just glad to find somewhere to put my stories, and glad to see that there are readers out there!!
Always interesting to enjoy other wrtiters work too.
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Kristin Dockar
11/02/2020I was so excited to see this. Thank you for your kind comments. Really made my day. I have just had my holiday cancelled today as the UK goes into second lockdown, so really cheered me up!
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Kevin Hughes
10/21/2020Congrats Kristen,
It deserves the Award. My Question to you is this: "How do you sleep at nights?" LOL
Great job. Smiles, Kevin
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Kristin Dockar
10/21/2020I know!!! Where that story ended up as it did, I don't know. The power of imagination!! But thank you for your kind comments.
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpg)
Douglas Richards
10/21/2020Loved it! Very well written and executed. Definitely drew me in. Well done!!
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Kristin Dockar
10/21/2020Thank you, glad you enjoyed it. Lovely surprise to see it made story of the day!
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
JD
10/10/2020So sad. And yes, a "horrible story". But it was believable, and that is part of what made it so sad and horrible. And a really intriguing and engrossing read too. Well done, Kristin! : )
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Kristin Dockar
10/11/2020Thank you. I 'saw' this couple on the train, and wove the story around what I saw.
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
Help Us Understand What's Happening
.jpeg)
COMMENTS (14)