Flash Fiction

She traded her ruby red
eyed,
copper skull
and cross-bone belt buckle
to a shady tattoo artist
so she could get her nipples pierced.

The needle was cold,
his hands colder;
frost
bite,
then fire.

Her naked flesh
burning hot in the mirror.

A trail of blood and bargain bold,
she could use a drink,
but the bar across the street doesn’t serve
the under aged.