Across the room, in one of the picture frames that lined the walls, something was moving. I squinted and stepped closer. The frame displayed a black and white beach landscape, complete with palm trees and a circular setting sun. At first glance, it seemed like just a normal tattoo design. But at the front and centre of the picture were four human figures, moving and waving and looking up at me with their mouths open and closing like they were trying to speak.
One of the figures looked exactly like the tattooist Brisbane studios had coveted for years, the one who managed this very studio. I’d seen her image online while researching why this studio seemed so alluring and had almost committed her face to memory. The other three figures were unknown to me, though their miniature faces were etched with fear. I leaned closer to the picture, and the figures started going wild. They jumped and waved and shook their heads, but I still couldn’t hear what they were saying. I got even closer to the frame and reached out to touch it, being very careful not to damage the figures or the drawing itself. But as soon as my finger touched the paper, the room beneath me lurched.
I lost my footing and found myself spiralling down, but there was no floor to hit. The studio had disappeared and I was falling sideways through darkness. When my feet touched the ground and I opened my eyes, the world around me was black and white. I was no longer in the tattoo studio; I was on a greyscale beach. And standing before me were the studio’s main tattooist, another tribal tattooist, and two women dressed in regular clothes. They all stared at me, stunned. I was still dizzy from the fall, so all I could do was stare back at them, my vision blurring and my balance wavering. Even in my confused state, I could tell that this was the same beach from the picture. The tribal tattooist stepped forward, shaking his head forlornly. “Now you’ve gone and done it,” he said.