The Power of Art

Great art has always had the power to move people.  Images have inspired feelings.  Symbols move groups to revolution.  One evening I wondered why the power of art couldn't be more literal.  This story was written with the help of the viewers of a live Ustream I did a week ago.  I may do it again in the future sometime if enough people are interested.

I am in a dark alley. Two creepy dudes are blocking my way out. To them I appear unarmed. They don't know how accurately the term “armed” describes me. As they both advance, one of them whips out a switchblade and the other brandishes a bat. If they knew how much I could do, they would run away.

I innocently raise my empty hands and my the glow from a nearby lamp shines on the tattoos that cover my arms from my wrists to the cuffs of the sleeves of my t-shirt. I speak in a calming voice down the alley, “Come on guys. You don't want to hurt me.”

They both take another step forward. The creep with the knife is spinning the blade in his hand. “If you hand your wallet then we won't hurt you, much.”

I lower my hands and cross my arms in front of my chest. I grin at their threat and the surprise they will get when I reveal what I can do. “That isn't much of a reason for me to do what you want. What's to stop me from simply pushing past you two and walking out of here?”

The guy with the bat looks questioningly at his partner and grips the handle tightly with both hands. The other creep pulls out a second knife and swishes them through the air with practiced movements. If almost anyone else were trapped in this alley by these two, they would certainly feel threatened. I, on the other hand, know I am completely safe. The two creeps would be realizing their mistake momentarily.

I lower my arms to my sides, subtly running a finger along one of the tattoos on my right arm. The ink is a picture of a longsword with a red jewel in the pommel. As I position my feet in a fighting stance, the same sword appears in my right hand. Light sparks off the sharp blade. The two men pause in their advances and movement. I grip the sword in both hands and look around it at the surprise on their faces.

“Now, I ask again, what is to stop me from simply pushing past you two and walking out of here?”

The guy with the knives takes a step back and looks at his partner again. “He's all yours H, take him out. Maybe we can pawn that toy sword of his somewhere.”

What followed couldn't fairly be called a fight. A few times the bat clanged off my sword. I finally disarmed H and pressed him and the guy with the knives out of the alley. They didn't say another word as they turned and quickly walked up the street, glancing back a couple of times to make sure I wasn't following them.

The drawing of my sword was something I had been able to do for a few years now. The power to do it was much older, it had been in my family for generations. When a young man reached the age of 20, he inherited the power from his father. The father then lost the power and traditionally would train his son in its use. There always seemed to be a son for these abilities to move on to, regardless of whether one was wanted or not. The only major difference from one person to the next was the exact manner in which the power was utilized. There was no way to dictate how one should use images to create.

I don't mean something as basic as looking at a blueprint and building something from it. The power that has passed through my family lets us take an image and give it life. Summon it if you will. One of my great-great-great-great-great grandfathers used a book of religious images to call forth angels, demons, and holy knights to do his bidding. They didn't last very long, but certainly had an impressive look to them.

My dad kept catalogs and magazines around the house. He would keep a supply of pictures cut out of them in his pockets. If he needed anything, it just took a subtle reach in to his pocket and he could pull the perfect item out. Tools, weapons, a comb or razor, it didn't matter. All of them were right there at his fingertips. It was only a concern when his pants got wet. Then he would have to hit the magazine racks to resupply himself.

I decided to go a bit edgier. When I reached the age of 16 and was told what was going to happen to me, I knew I couldn't just touch a picture and call forth the item. I had to go to an extreme. I make the pictures part of myself and get tattoos. Then I could just touch the proper section of ink and do what needed to be done.

The sword I used on the punks in the alley was my first piece of ink. Others came over time and I perfected the skills each gave me. If I touch a snake that was drawn on my left bicep, the fingers on my left hand would poison someone with a simple touch. Interesting things also happen if I touch to activate other tattoos like a ball of fire, a lightning bolt, or a skull.

Not all of my tattoos came with such simple On/Off switches. For some reason I still don't understand, the cartoonish angel and devil on opposite sides of my neck won't ever shut up. They each keep giving me their opinion ever time a decision must be made. Even when I don't ask for it. If only I knew how to get just one of them to shut up. The truly maddening part is that they have exactly opposite views of everything. One wants to turn left, the other wants to turn right. Sometimes I'm tempted to split the difference, keep going straight, and hit a wall. I used to wonder why my dad suggested I get them as my powers grew. These days I wonder why I actually listened to him this time.

I stroll into my favorite tattoo parlor and look around for something inspiring among all the samples on the walls. There was still some space between the wings inked on my shoulder blades that would let me fly around town. Maybe I could do something creative with a Hellhound. I could get something just for decoration this time...or not.

What tattoo would you get and what power would it gain you?  Leave a comment and let me know.