Written for a Gaia contest. Prompt: Tattoos.

Not what I was originally going to write for it. Severe writer's block kept me from writing that story. Maybe soon I'll finish it.

Wrote this in three hours from scratch. Quite impressive for me.

No offense is meant to anyone reading who may live in West Virginia. Or anyone who considers themselves a hillbilly. Or who is involved in or has known of an incestuous relationship. My disclaimers. XD Also, if you think something is implied, then it is true. -nods-

Enjoy. Please R&R.

"I am insulted by the world we live in today. I am humiliated and utterly disgusted. We cannot even stand up for what we believe in anymore without there being some bigoted consequence."

-Timothy Bailey, The Underground Mercenary

--

Every day, I walk down the same street, sometimes jogging, but always taking in my surroundings. I love being outside, and this day was no different. It is bright out, the kind of day mothers use as an excuse to get their children away from their video games. The park is one of the places I encounter on my way, and I grin in anticipation.

--

My name is Kel Zinzendorf, and I am an actor. It is my job to present to an audience the feelings and emotions presented to me in a script; to move them to tears, or to change. Recently, I starred in a movie called The Underground Mercenary, a drama about Timothy, a young man who is part of the Bailey family. The character does not really exist, but with the paranoia and uncertainty running rampant these days, he does.

The Bailey family is real: They have been for a long while. I heard about them five years ago, when I was nineteen. They roam the streets, usually at night. They prey on the innocent, but for no purpose except to sate their own agony. Before the creation of The Underground Mercenary, I had the chance to speak with the real Timothy, whose birth name I shall keep to myself, but whom I will call Rob for the sake of clarity. He explained to me what it is like to be part of the Bailey family: "It isn't so much a hunger as a need, rooted deep in the fibers of my being. When I go out at night, I go because I cannot control myself, not because I want to. Believe me, Kelly, if I could give all of this up for one day of normalcy, I would in a heartbeat."

He came to me with the idea for the movie, because he had seen me in other films that expose little-known truths, and he knows I have had a great impact on the way average citizens think. He wanted me to try to have the movie created, to raise awareness of what really goes on in the mind of a Bailey. "Kel," he said, "I can tell you understand this. I know you are a busy man, and I would like to thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me. I feel that this is a story that must be told, and I think you are the to tell it."

--

I slow outside a gas station, watching the expensive cars zoom past as I catch my breath. Sometimes, I wish their occupants would acknowledge me by any means other than a middle finger or a scoff. I am young for an actor, especially one so regarded and with such a reach of influence, and I guess the more experienced actors dislike me for that reason. I also play the roles they denied, and end up becoming a success for it.

Your loss, I think, as my fellow nominee from the last Oscar ceremony drives by. Then I step into the gas station and head for coolers at the back of the Minit Mart.

--

Timothy was based off Rob. He sat down with me and in one night, we had a script written up. I could see in his eyes that he was ecstatic, but his upbringing kept him from showing the emotion straight out.

One line in particular from the script caught my attention and has held it to this day: "You can't fight your blood, but you can fight who you aren't." Rob told me that, and it came to be Timothy's most significant line. I tried to keep in touch with Rob for a while after that, but he always cut our calls short and rarely met with me. He explained it to me like this: "I don't want you to get hurt." And I always replied, "You can't protect me any more than I can protect you."

--

As I search for the water, I hear footsteps behind me. I keep my eyes focused on my task, knowing what is coming; the kids do it every day, and neither the store clerk or their parents ever say a word. I hear the pop of their plastic guns, and almost immediately feel their darts hit my arm. One sticks this single rare time, and I smile a bit at how amusing it is. The child who shot it runs up quickly and pulls it off my skin before running with his comrade to the front of the store.

The thing with children is that they learn from their parents. They are masters of mimicking, and that is all they do. In World War II, children would stand beside their parents screaming anti-Jew slurs without knowing what they meant. Their innocence was what they had to hide behind. But when the parents of these children know they are not doing the right thing, they remain silent, or continue to call out the same slurs as their children.

I find the water and pay at the register.

--

The trademark of a Bailey is a round tattoo on the inside of their right hip. When a Baily turns eighteen, they must have this mark placed upon them to show who they are, whether they have it done willingly or must be forced to. For some, they wear the tattoo proudly. For others, it is like an awful scar they must bear until their death. Both Rob and Timothy had theirs forced upon him by their fathers, who finally caught up with them when they were older.

What makes a Baily a Baily, however, is not this tattoo. It is their blood, their heritage. They are not wealthy a lot of the time, but nor are they poor; they act like average people during the day. It is during the night that they show who they really are.

The Underground Mercenary follows Timothy through one week of his life: from the day before he gets the tattoo, up through six days after the tattoo. He crosses many paths best left uncrossed, and tries his hardest to fit in to a world where he is hunted out of pure fright, all leading up to a heart-stopping assassination and a change in the world. The story follows him through each night of his agony, of the urge to be free, as Rob called it. "Some of us honestly believe that by attacking others, they can free themselves," he told me one night in the afterglow. I laid on my stomach, my back set on pleasant fire by the claw marks on my skin. "But it is not the attacking that frees us," he continued. "It is the knowledge that we have control of someone else's body when we can't have control over out own." He explained the urge once as a "sick and twisted churning of the gut, one which must be relieved unless you want to fall ill."

--

I begin walking again as I open the bottle of water and take a sip. Condensation forms quickly on the plastic and drips down my hand and wrist. Dragging an arm across my forehead, I tighten the cap and carry on my way toward the park.

As I pass a squat brick building, I slow, even before I reach the Don't Walk signal at the corner. This place is the last place I saw Rob, almost two weeks ago. He has been gone for a while, like the life in the flowers in each suite's window box. This motel, this tribute to short stays--it hurts me and frightens me at the same time.

--

I had a hard time finding a production company to take the script, but my agent saw the potential in it and helped me to ship it to any companies I had missed. One finally took it up: A new company, one no one had ever heard of. They were ecstatic to have me on as lead actor in such a timely and moving piece.

Within six months, production had begun. Rob came to the set only once, near the end of filming. He told me that he wanted to be there for at least one day, and I managed to get him on set by saying he had helped me write the script, which was the only truth I ever told anyone about him.

--

A high-pitched horn disturbs my daze and I turn to cross the street. I can see the park from here, about six blocks away. When I reach the other side of the street, I stop to sip at my water again. The streets are emptier than usual today, especially at this hour, just before noon.

I am not complaining, however. Empty streets mean a faster run and less trouble.

--

As soon as word reached the Internet that The Underground Mercenary was being filmed, I was ostracized. It was as if society was pushing me out and squeezing me at the same time, like pressing a Jelly Bean between your fingers. Rob became my comfort even during the early days of filming. He kept himself available as much as he could, and even though his calls were short, it was lovely hearing him telling me it would be all right, that he had been going through the same thing, that I was not the only one. I never expected to become so close to him, and I do not thing he did, either.

I guess we both needed the company. Rob told me that being a Bailey was lonely when you lived in public society. He told me that there were some towns that were made up mostly by Baileys--and jokingly placed all in West Virginia, whose motto he said was, "One Big, Happy Family…Really!". They were harsh towns, hillbillies aside. He said that despite the loneliness, he preferred the big city.

--

Taking advantage of the empty streets, I close my eyes and tilted my head back, guiding myself along the side of a building to keep from running into the street. I love the feeling of the wind in my hair, which is probably why I keep it down over my ears. Rob is the same way; I always joke that if he cut a couple of inches off his hair and dyed it blond, he could be my twin.

My finger leaves the building and I open my eyes in time to jog across the next street. I can see the shady trees and healthy grass of the park ahead, where the children play under the close supervision of their parents.

--

The movie's title comes from something Rob said: "By daylight, I am an average, working-class person. I make an honest living, and I like it. At night, I hide myself, I behave like a mercenary: Only caring about myself and taking my share as it comes, but always willing to take more if it is offered."

I offered myself to him, but he denied, saying it was way too dangerous. I told him that it was research for my role in the movie, but he still refused, saying that he was not going to be responsible for whatever happened to me. He knew that from the beginning, however, from the moment I said yes to the film. When I said that single word, we both knew the consequences of what the future held.

But we did not care.

--

I smile when I finally reach the park. I jog along a concrete path to my favorite bench, located beneath a large weeping willow. While I catch my breath, I look around. I am not the only jogger out today. In fact, I see my neighbor's agent running along the path I just stepped off of. This magnificent summer day has brought out the jogger in all of us.

A popular little jingle sounds from my pocket and I pull out my ringing cell phone. My mother's number is on the screen. Flipping the phone open I smile and greet her, but she has no time for casual talk. She tells me to get home as soon as I can for my own safety.

Today marks the one-week anniversary of the release date of The Underground Mercenary. She is just paranoid, I tell her, but she insists. Sighing, I comply and end the call. Taking one last look around, I stand and finish the rest of my water. I walk to the nearest trash can and drop the bottle in, then turn to jog home.

--

I am not the only one who has faced the fallout of the movie. The crew, the company, and all the other actors have had problems as well. The movie was a smash hit, but for all the wrong reasons. People wanted to see what it was like, so they could offer more bigoted opinions on members of the Bailey family. I am sure there were some that went for enjoyment's sake, but they are few and far between.

"Just because we are Baileys does not make us strong individuals," Rob told me once. "As a unit, we are strong. Individually, we are not. There are so little of us and so many of everyone else that we cannot properly defend ourselves. So we stay hidden, out of the way. There are so many people out in the world that are Baileys and don't know it, or Baileys that hide for the sake of their sanity."

--

I narrowly avoid a big man in baggy clothes who was not standing there before I turned around. Then a strong hand wraps around my upper arm, nearly pulling me backwards on the ground. Another man approaches and pushes me the rest of the way to the ground.

I call out for help, but none comes as the smaller of the two men rips my shirt up the center. He produces a metal rod with a flattened cylinder on the end. He pulls the metal cap off the cylinder, revealing an engraving too blackened and worn away for me to make out.

In the larger man's tight grip, I struggle as hard as I can, still screaming for help. The other man brings the engraving close to the inside of my hip and I have barely enough time to register the faint heat coming off the metal before he presses the hot engraving to my exposed skin.

My screaming becomes louder as he holds the metal to my flesh, the other man holding me to the ground so I do not struggle. Through the pain, I realize I am being branded, that my past has caught up with me. This is not the conventional way to get the tattoo, but a fast way for those who struggle--or those who have been running for long enough and need branded immediately.

--

I never told Rob my secret, about the reason I had decided to become an actor. When I first heard about the Baileys, my mother sat me down and told me about my father, who I have never met. She told me the reason she left him, and the reason I had to have my name changed when I was still a baby.

She told me my father's name, my original surname: Bailey. She said he was from a distant branch of the Bailey family tree, but that he was a Bailey all the same.

--

My head is spinning, but when the spots before my eyes finally clear, I know that will not be the worst of my problems. The big man has released me, but I cannot move to get away, my body still paralyzed with pain.

Silently, he brings his heavy fist down onto my collarbone, and I hear the sickening snap without feeling it. I cannot scream anymore; my vocal cords have long since frozen up.

So I lay soundlessly on the concrete, my eyes closed, hearing the impact of every blow they make, but not feeling any of the pain, for it has all combined into one deep, aching pain all over my body. All I can feel beside the pain is the faint tickle of blood, trickling from the wounds soon covering my body.

--

Rob said that his biggest fear was death, and that that was the reason that Timothy died at the end of the movie. He used to say that when he died, he hoped that there would be a reaction, but he knew that his hope was in vain. His kind, his family--they were nothing but a nuisance to the world. "So little of us and so many of everyone else."

He was right. He was always right. It made me sad that I was the only one he had the courage to share his true feelings and thoughts with. "Give yourself more credit, Kel," he always said. "You are not the only one I can talk to. You are the only one I want to talk to."

--

The Baileys believe in an afterlife, defined by those who go there. When I open my eyes, Rob is standing over me, offering his hand. I am afraid to move, but I cannot feel the pain anymore. Slowly, I lift my hand to his and he takes hold of it firmly, pulling me to my feet.

"Sorry I haven't been around," he says, smiling. "I ran into a bit of trouble."

I smile, his face the only thing I see. He laces his fingers with mine, and together we walk down the path, escaping the shade of the willow for the warmth of the sun.

--

"Watch the sunrise. It brings with it new life and new beginnings."

-Timothy Bailey, The Underground Mercenary