Taboo Tattoo

Turning twelve was a big deal in the religion I grew up in. Twelve was the age when church officials determined that you could identify right from wrong, and kids became adults. On my twelfth birthday, my mother gave me a heart-shaped locket; it was on a delicate silver chain and contained a picture of each of my parents. This locket was my most prized position for as long as I had it.

When I was fourteen, I lost it in the woods behind my house while wandering. My mother told me this was god's way of punishing me for hiking through the woods on a Sunday rather than studying my scriptures. I was devastated. That locket was so meaningful to me.

Once I reached adulthood, I learned that the "religion" I raised in was much closer to a cult, and I began severing all ties to anything that connected me to my upbringing. I commemorated this separation by committing one of the ultimate sins in the eyes of the cul, getting a tattoo of the locket I had lost. The delicate chain permanently wrapped around my forearm and the heart-shaped locket sat delicately on my wrist.

I could have never guessed this cult would rise to prominence in the United States and ultimately become both the dominant religion and the demise of American society. It started with a few key members running for public office. Their hardline stances on things like a traditional family, drugs, and alternative lifestyles were popular among conservatives looking to maintain tradition, and their strong social programs, run through the church, of course, made them popular with liberals as well. Once they had secured a few key positions in Congress, they were able to gain the confidence of the American People and the Executive Branch. As the cult gained influence and was officially recognized as the dominant religion in the United States, things began to deteriorate for us who had left or did not want to be a part of the religion.

Church leaders pushed people like me to the fringe of society. Every aspect of public life was monitored and controlled by the church. In a short ten years, I had gone from living an everyday adult life with an apartment and a job I enjoyed to hiding in the woods I used to roam as a child. There were rumors that Church officials who caught anyone caught in active dissent of the new social norms were sent to church headquarters for retraining. Retraining was said to be forced labor and mental reprogramming so that they could send you back into “polite” society.

I had escaped this religion once; I refused to be forced back into it. There were others like me living in the wood, scraping by on what we could forage or steal, mostly living in rudimentary shelters we built in the trees. I had even managed to make a few friends, but as months passed, my interactions with them became fewer, and then one day, I realized I had been completely alone for at least a month.

"Had my acquaintances been caught," I wondered. I knew that the woods were not entirely safe. There was always a risk of being found by a church member from the nearby town who was out collecting firewood. I knew I could not stay here forever; the woods were becoming less isolated all the time as more people wanted to live in the place where their great religion had begun.

At this point, I knew I needed to move on but getting out of the woods to another safe place would be extremely difficult. Having tattoos was now banned, and anyone found with one had them forcibly removed by the church. My cherished locket tattoo would now be the thing that betrayed me unless I was cautious.

While I knew how to blend in with the church members, one slip of my sleeve would give me away. Staying away from towns and cities was my best bet. But without venturing into them, I would never be able to get out of the United States or connect with fellow dissenters. I have been leaving pieces of paper with my story in tree hollows and other places where people like me, I hoped, would look. If you are reading this, my name is KylieAnn Young, I am a dissenter, and I need help escaping.