Defying Superstition: Writing with pen on your hand leads to lethal ink poisoning.

Day 1.

The ink is bold. I can still smell the toxic vapors wafting in the air. It's menacing lines cackle at me as it plots to kill me. I hope it's a quick death. The kind where James Bond starts choking and runs to his Astin Martin for a mini defibrillator. I've always been the one for that kind of drama.

Day 2.

I'm ALIVE. After a night of twisted dreams I lay awake in bed. Tired. But ALIVE. I have a few extra specs of "sleep" in my eyes. Nice try pen-ink. You'll have to do better than that to get me. I can just rub that shit out. HA HA HA who's laughing now motherfucker.