The Falling Nun

When Liberty walks into Ed Hardy's Tattoo City, she is already not as she was when she came into this world. She drips with jewels the way a tropical bird drips with colored feathers. She is dotted all over with little golden rings. It is as if she is covered inside with a fine spiderweb of lacy wires, and the precious gems and bright metal where the web is anchored peek out here and there to decorate her. There is a diamond nose ring, a delicate circlet through her belly button, amethyst and garnet studs in the tender tabs of flesh inside her ears. Her body is embroidered. She is crewelwork, filigree.

But it is not enough. The piercings are beautiful, but they are over too soon. They are too easy, too common; they don't leave enough of a mark. They don't do what she needs them to do. They don't say what she needs them to say. She is not entirely sure even what that is.

Bzzt, bzzt, bzzt, she hears. Bzzt, bzzt, bzzt. One of the two tattoo artists is finishing up a job. In an open cubicle, a very young man lies on a padded table with his pant leg rolled up. H ... read full excerpt from The Falling Nun: And Other Stories ebook