With his vintage glasses, intricate tattoos, meticulously groomed beard, love of artisanal spirits and coffees, and a wardrobe full of a mix of bespoke items and thrift store finds…Jude was the quintessential hipster.
He was also very handsome which, combined with his obsession with the above trappings, resulted in him arriving in his late 20s having alienated most everyone around him that meant anything.
“How can I know exactly who you are,” his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend said as she packed up her things in their Brooklyn townhouse, “and still sometimes have no idea who you are at all?”
“Don’t go, Valentina,” Jude had said as she walked toward the door that last day. “I love you,” he added, something he had never said before. He didn’t mean it, but he didn’t want her to leave because he didn’t want to be alone.
“You love your mirror,” Valentina said, pausing at the door. “I hope you and yourself will be very happy together.”
Then she was gone.
And a year later, Jude was gone, too.
He had relocated to Medellín, Colombia with his college friend Parker with the promise of an exotic expat lifestyle. He would spend his days as a digital nomad in front of a laptop at some coffee shop, working for a weed distribution company in the United States.
And at night, he would party, making the rounds in El Poblado, hitting up all the clubs, DJs and event nights. Soon he was a regular, which allowed him to skip lines, get the best tables, and talk to the best and most popular influencers in the city.
Most importantly, there was an endless line of young, beautiful women—locals and tourists—who wanted to be with him. His loft and bedroom was a revolving door, some new piece coming and going almost every night.
“You, sir, are my hero,” Parker would occasionally say, though his roommate was more of a homebody these days, with a steady girlfriend who he’d been with since they’d arrived in the city.
Despite all the action and excitement, Jude was getting older. He was almost 30, and was finding it harder to maintain the pace of life he was used to. Young women who he used to be able to pull weren’t interested, and were now looking at him as if he was a creepy old man.
Jude felt his worst when he was alone. He started to wonder where he was headed, if he could really be with one woman, and what his life would be like another 10 years from now.
Jude’s passion for art and individuality, and the thrill of chasing the next thing, led him to frequent tattoo parlors, always on the hunt for the next piece of ink to adorn his body.
One afternoon, Jude found himself at a new cafe in a part of the city he hadn’t explored much. As he picked up his laptop and hit the street to head home, he saw an old wooden sign for a small tattoo shop he’d never heard of before. It was tucked away down a narrow alley, its entrance adorned with strange symbols.
Intrigued, Jude pushed open the creaky wood and glass door and stepped inside.
The interior was dimly lit, with chipped plaster walls covered in interesting art, and shelves lined with jars of ink in every imaginable color. Behind the counter stood an elderly man with piercing eyes and an aura of mystery.
"Looking for something unique, are you?" the man said, his voice smooth yet commanding.
"I want something that tells a story. Something ancient and powerful," Jude replied, saying what came to him in the moment. He knew that a mere tattoo wouldn’t solve all his problems. But he wanted something special this time, more than just a common decoration.
The old man looked at Jude knowingly, and smiled.
“I have been waiting for you, Jude,” the old man said. “I have designs that I’ve been waiting to give the right person. I think that person is you. Follow me.”
The old man beckoned Jude to follow him to the back room.
As they walked down a dim hallway, Jude realized that the old man had called him by name, even though he hadn’t said it. His nervousness was quickly swept away by the excitement of this new and unexpected adventure.
They arrived in a small room filled wall to wall with candles, artwork, draped fabrics, bookshelves filled with art books, and what looked like an antique tattoo artist’s chair in the middle.
The old man walked to the bookshelf, removed a handful of books, then turned the knob on a metal safe that was recessed into the bookshelf. He flipped the lever and opened the safe. From the secure box he withdrew what looked like a scroll, a carved wooden spindle wrapped in stained parchment.
The old man brought the scroll to a small table, and carefully unrolled it. On the parchment were intricate symbols surrounded by handwritten notes in a language Jude had never seen before.
“What is this?” Jude asked.
“This is the Scroll of Zolotyl, passed down through centuries of beings for the purpose of being here and now,” the old man replied. “It chronicles the life of a forgotten god named Zolotyl, an ancient deity of transformation and chaos who has been erased from most records and memories. These designs carry the essence of Zolotl. When applied in ink on human flesh, they are said to grant extraordinary powers to the bearer.”
“What kind of powers?” Jude asked.
“The exact powers are unknown and vary from vessel to vessel,” the old man replied.
“What do you mean, vessel?” Jude asked.
“Not only does the bearer receive powers,” the old man replied, "it is said that the soul of Zolotyl himself can fill the human vessel for a time. So, it is an endeavor of risk you have to be prepared for.”
“Have you done this before?” Jude asked. “Like, given these specific tattoos to anyone else?”
“Only once before, many years ago,” the old man replied. “And it turned out the person was, let’s say, an inadequate vessel.”
“I’m the vessel,” Jude replied, a combo of ego and adrenaline pumping through his mind and body. He was intrigued and undeterred by the ominous risks and warnings. He quickly signed a waiver, then sat down in the old man’s chair.
“Let’s do this,” Jude said.
As the needle pierced Jude’s skin, he felt a rush of energy unlike anything he had ever experienced. The tattoo, a complex and mesmerizing design, seemed to pulse with a life of its own as it took shape on his forearm.
When the session was complete, Jude stood and immediately felt different. His senses were heightened, his muscles felt stronger, and his mind buzzed with newfound clarity.
“Thank you,” Jude uttered to the old man.
“I have no doubt that I will see you again,” the old man replied.
That night, Jude was jolted awake in the middle of the night, in a hot and buzzing sweat.
"I am Zolotl,” a voice echoed in his mind. “We are now one. Your body will serve as my Earthly incarnation."
“I am glad to serve you,” Jude replied.”What are my powers?”
But there was no response.
Jude’s life took a dramatic turn. He discovered he had superhuman abilities: immense strength, speed, and an uncanny intuition that allowed him to perceive threats before they happened.
At first, he reveled in his powers, using them to help those in need. One afternoon, he lifted a car that had fallen onto a mechanic at a local garage. Once, he picked up a pregnant woman who went into labor in a cafe and carried her in under a minute to the local hospital. One night, he subdued a drunk man who had come into a club, who intended to kill the owner, who owed him money.
Sometimes, he controlled his remarkable actions, and tried to keep them low-key. But more often, Zolotyl’s voice would fill his head, he would black out, and would come to, surrounded by people, trying to piece together what remarkable feat he had just undertaken, under the control of the chaotic god.
Jude soon realized there was a cost to his abilities.
He started to get too much attention. At first, it was a huge ego boost, which he loved. Who wouldn’t want to be a real life superhero, and receive the love and adoration that came with the role? But it became clear that Jude’s ego and life were of no concern to Zolotyl, whose goal was to feed his own ego, and unleash his own desires, which had been bottled up for who knows how long.
Zolotyl’s influence also extended into the bedroom. Jude would dominate those he brought home—both men and women—in a way that was both thrilling and inappropriate. Sometimes, he would wake up to find his partner breathless and satisfied. Sometimes, they would be shaken and angry. And sometimes they would have left him in the middle of the night, and he would wake up alone.
“Dudes, huh?” his roommate Parker said. “How come I never knew you rolled that way?”
“Uh, its a new thing,” Jude replied, having not confided in Parker anything about the tattoo or Zolotyl.
“Cool,” Parker replied. “Have fun, be careful, uh—”
“Okay, mom,” Jude said with a smile.
When one tattoo would settle into Jude’s skin, Zolotyl’s voice would urge him to get more tattoos. And when his abilities would fade, and his life would go back to normal, Jude found himself back with the old man at the tattoo shop, needing new ink, like an addict needs their next fix.
“Like clockwork,” the old man said, when Jude entered the tattoo ship for his nineteenth tattoo.
Jude's body became a canvas, filled with intricate designs, each representing a piece of Zolotl's chaotic and selfish essence. As the tattoos multiplied, so did the god's control over him.
Parker and what few close acquaintances Jude had noticed the change. Over time, Jude became more withdrawn, his once vibrant personality overshadowed by Zolotl's dominance. Still, the desire to keep his powers and remain special was strong, and Jude continued to ink his body, inch by inch.
Two years passed, and Jude's body was nearly covered. He had even gotten ink in places he never thought he would, and endured the most excruciating pain to accommodate the next design.
With each new tattoo, Zolotl's influence grew, but the end was drawing near. There was little space on his body left for new ink, and Jude, already exhausted, began to feel a creeping sense of dread.
The day came when the last available patch of skin was filled.
“What will happen now?” Jude asked the old man, both knowing this would be his last session.
“You have been a worthy vessel,” the old man replied. “But since your canvas is full, the scroll will go back in the safe, and I will wait for the next vessel to reveal themselves.”
Days later, as the final tattoo healed, Jude's powers faded, and he felt the god's essence slipping away.
One afternoon, he felt an overwhelming surge of energy through his whole body, followed by a profound emptiness and stillness. Zolotl’s voice, a constant presence in his life for so long, fell silent. The ancient god had departed his body, leaving him exhausted, but free.
A couple weeks later, Jude wandered by the small cafe near the tattoo shop. He looked for the old wooden sign for the shop and it wasn’t there.
He walked down the narrow alley to the door of the tattoo shop. There were no symbols around the door, which was curious. He knelt down and peered through the glass. The place looked deserted, no sign of the tattoo shop or anything else.
“Can I help you?” a young woman said, approaching him from behind.
“Oh, I was just looking for the tattoo shop that was here,” Jude replied. “Looks like it's gone.”
“Tattoo shop?” the woman said. “This space has been empty for many years.”
* * *
Jude’s wife Jess walked in the door with a bag of groceries. It was January in Brooklyn and she had stopped by the local market to get some things on her way home from work.
“I’ll get started,” he said, watching her take off her jacket and cap.
“No, he’s sleeping,” she replied. “You stay right there, I’ll make dinner.”
Jude looked down at their son Nico, who was 6 months and a week old, and fast asleep in his arms.
It seemed like just yesterday when he had left Medellín and returned to Brooklyn, met Jess at his new job, gotten married, and watched little Nico come into the world. The time had gone by fast.
Jude liked wintertime, as he could cover up most of the tattoos on his body and not be reminded 24/7 of his time in Columbia and of Zolotyl. All except the face tattoos, which is why he avoided mirrors as much as he could.
But sitting there holding Nico, a bit of one of Zolotyl’s tattoos was visible on his wrist, near the sleeve of his sweater, and he was reminded of the past. He had tasted godlike power and survived the presence of an ancient deity. His body was a testament to that experience, covered in the marks of a forgotten god who had used him as a vessel for its own return to relevance. How many people could say that?
In the past, through the years, he had been many different people, and had felt like he had always been on a search to find out who he really was. Now, thanks to Jess and Nico, he finally felt like he was who he was meant to be.
Jude felt at home in his own skin, content on the inside, regardless of the ink that covered his body. And he hoped that that feeling would remain for a very long time, long after the ink had faded.
