[ WP ] On each person 's fourteenth birthday a tattoo will appear on their body representing something significant in their life . Write me anything about this world .

At just thirteen years of age, I lived in constant fear of one guy: Darry. He was also only 13 years old, but stood at an enormous six-foot-two, and had huge, sinewy arms that looked built for snapping the necks of dorks like me who liked to stay indoors and read manga. Darry was a magnificently interesting creature in the most scientific sense, as I had always thought he bore rather uncanny physical similarities to an ape. I could n't help but link this to how his emotional and intellectual spectrum seem to span no longer than a pencil shaving. He always talked really loud with his friends and had a laugh that echoed throughout the nervous silence of the school corridors. Today in particular, he was talking especially loud to ensure that everyone could him brag about his family's legendary history of tattoos. 
 
 `` Gee I really do n't know what tattoo will appear on me tomorrow. My Dad has a lion on his arm, representing the strength and power he has, and my Mum has a flower on her wrist because she loves nature and is a very delicate person. I reckon I could get a lion too.'' He boomed proudly. I sighed and thought about the beautiful tattoos only people like Darry seemed to get. Kids like me normally got simple geometric tattoos, like squares or numbers, normally representing our simplistic nature, or foreshadowing a career in accounting. There was no question that Darry's social standing would improve even more after tomorrow, the day he would be turning 14 and getting a kickass tattoo. In the middle of my dazed state I had n't noticed that I'd been staring at him the whole time. 
 
 
 `` What do you think you're looking at? Ca n't take your eyes off me? Sorry, I'm not into guys.'' He yelled across the hall. I froze, and felt the heat rising to my face. My feet were nailed to the ground as everyone stopped to stare at me. There was complete silence in the corridor, and I noticed how some people even held their breath. Darry stalked up to me in enormous strides until our toes were touching and I could feel the condensation of his breath on my nose. His eyes were bright blue and livid. 
 
 
 `` Good, because you're not my type.'' I said meekly, thinking I was going to get it anyway, so I had nothing to lose by having a small victory. And I was right. He punched me straight in the nose and sent my head flying back towards the metal lockers, before it bounced off again and I fell forward scattering around the floor. I lifted my hand to see that it had been stained by sticky red blood. I studied the ground as if it was the most fascinating thing I'd ever seen, as Darry leaned down to whisper in my ear: 
 `` Do n't be smart with me.'' He said. 
 
 ******** 
 That night, I lay awake, my nose throbbing with pain. It had been bandaged and I had taken pain killers but the mental wounds would be with me for years. And Darry was not someone who would be likely to forget my small act of defiance. It's not exactly because he has a fantastic memory, ( as proven by his arithmetic pop quiz scores ) but because he's such a nasty person he'll give any reason to beat someone up. I felt bitter as I thought about the next morning, when he would get to show off his new tattoo. What shit timing to have pissed him off, at the height of his popularity. I shut my eyes and willed myself to drift into sleep, to escape from the world for a little while. 
 
 
 ********* 
 The day of Darry's birthday was today. I had deliberately chosen to wear a large black hoodie and dark blue jeans to keep myself on the down low. My hood was up and my hands were in my pockets. As I walked through the front gates of the school I could feel a buzz in the air. I kept my head down and my eyes trained on the ground. So, word had gotten out about me. The voices suddenly became deafening and the ground started swaying. What did I do to deserve this? I thought to myself. I hated this attention. I hated all kinds of attention, but the kind I hated most was the kind that included whispers that stopped when you approached people, and that started again once you were out of ear shot. The kind that possessed a tone of gossip that made you feel isolated and targeted in a large group of people. I had looked at the ground so hard that I accidentally bumped into someone. I looked up to apologise, but the guy had n't even noticed me. He was too busy staring ahead of himself. And he was n't the only one either, because a whole group of people had gathered with their mouths agape, with a few whispers echoing through the crowd. As I followed their line of sight, I saw it and knew. I knew then that the whispers I heard were not about me. I had clearly overestimated the buzz that I could generate, because, right in front of me, walking with shoulders stiff down the hall, 
 
 
 was a red faced Darry, with a massive tattoo of a dick that spanned the entire width of his face.
