The Collector

He noticed her in line. Rainbow hair, both arms inked from shoulder to wrist, blazing galleries of colour, pink flamingos and purple mountains.

At the bar, he felt her warmth on the small of his back, gentle breath in his ear. “Come” she whispered. She led him by the hand and sashayed through the dull beat of limbs and bodies of the ordinary. Outside, he noticed the tattoo of a rose on her stark white back was achromatic, ashen like the embers of yesterday's fire. “You’re my first” she said, and his world turned to black.