“CRESCENT MOON”

“And what significance does this tattoo have to you?” He asked as he ran his finger across the crescent moon with a woman’s face in it that adorned Luna’s forearm.

“Uh, my name is Luna.” Luna replied, yanking her arm away.

“Beautiful. And, to you, what does it mean to have such a powerful, womanly name?” He replied, unfazed.

“Look my guy, I’d probably get this tattoo if my name was Mildred. Moons are cool and the chick’s face is hot. It’s not that complicated.” 

“So you’re saying this tattoo means nothing to you?”

“Not really. None of them do. I see art I like, I put it on my body. That’s about it.” 

“Well, why not pretend it means something to make for a better story?” 

“And what would I stand to gain from that?”

“Everyone wants a story.” 

“No, I’m quite content keeping silent, thanks.”

“But you’re talking to me now.” 

“My point remains.” 

Luna smiled to herself before returning to her drink. 

“It’s stupid.”

Luna didn’t want to engage any more than she already had but she could sense that he wasn’t going to leave until he got some kind of response from her. Still, she sipped her martini and hoped he’d finally get the hint. 

He did not. 

“Attention whore.” He grunted as he threw some bills on the bar. A lousy tipper, what a surprise. Luna knew better, she really did. But she couldn’t help herself. 

“Pardon?” 

“You sit here by yourself, all these tattoos, your short skirt, and then you act like you’re better than anyone who tries to talk to you.”

“I’m sitting here. By myself. Minding my own business. You decided to come over here and bother me. What’s on my body is none of your concern. You want my attention because you think these are signals for you to give me that. They’re not. They’re for me. Period.”

He scoffed and finally backed away. Luna was used to telling off creeps who thought her tattoos gave them access to parts of her life that she had never granted them, but everyone has their limits. She pulled out her phone and began scrolling through her Instagram feed.

“What a jerk,” she heard the bartender say under her breath as she counted the bills he left behind. Luna finished the rest of her drink and left a $20 on the bar. Just because he was a jerk didn’t mean anyone else had to suffer. As Luna slung her purse over her shoulder, she felt a familiar tingle. She raised her coffin tip nails to her forearm and delicately scratched at her crescent moon.

“Oh, of course.” She replied as the moon gave her a wink.

Luna could sense him. It had been a few minutes since he left the bar but he hadn’t gone far. She entered and exited one dimly-lit establishment after another, each bar on the block only being different shades of cool but none with enough character to distinguish itself from the others. Finally, she found him, perched over another young woman’s stool in the same way he stood over hers.

Luna stood back and surveyed. She needed to play this just right.

His next conquest gently nudged past him and headed towards the ladies’ room. She gave him a coy giggle as she walked off. Luna couldn’t tell if she was just too nice for her own good or if it was just rough enough of a night for her that he seemed like a good option. Could her senses be off and he actually was charming?

“Oh, honey, you know I’m never wrong,” the moon sharply responded.

Sure enough, Luna’s eyes landed back on him as he slipped something out of his pants pocket. He opened the small lid and shook a tiny vial three times over her drink before deftly placing it back in his pocket right as she returned. She didn’t yet take another sip, which gave Luna just enough time to make her move as they commenced their small talk and tipsy flirtation.

“Box cutter,” the moon said.

“You sure?” Luna replied.

“Box cutter.”

Luna could see that she was holding the drink in her hand. Not quite ready to sip, but using it as a prop while she laughed at his barely astute observations and banal humor. Luna retrieved the box cutter from the bottom of her purse. She pulled it out, closed her eyes, and winced as she carefully outlined the crescent moon shape. With a violent tug, she held the bloody tattoo in her hand as she stormed towards the two.

“What the?!” He gasped as Luna slammed the bloody piece of skin down on the bar in front of him. The woman shrieked in fright, her drink flying across the bar.

“Run,” the moon commanded the woman from the bar top.

In the melee of screams and frantic exits, he looked Luna dead in the eyes with a fear she had grown to love. She scooped up her moon and rubbed at the piece of tattooed flesh until she could feel it reattaching itself to her forearm.

“What?” Luna responded, “now you have a story.”

She could hear him gagging as she walked away.