She had spent months preparing for this job. Usually, she did things like suspension weekly or monthly, depending on the pay. But she had been wanting to remove it from her list of things included in her show. Turns out, it was still in demand, and if the money is good, she’ll do it. It had been about five months since her last, which was a long time for her. But the body remembers the steps, the mind remembers the head space.

Her suspension guy was stoked, and she found him sterilizing the chair she would sit in, as well laying out the tools. All packed in special sterilization pouches. While she was talking with the crowd that was at the event, smiling, posing for pictures with fans until the time came.

Sitting, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There was the sudden feeling of cold, as he cleaned and marked each spot. Made easier of the scars from years upon years of doing this. But this one would be different. It would be The Angel position, which was an extended Suicide suspension, and one not typically done.

A measured piece of skin pulled away from the body and the eight-gauge hook pushed through the skin until there was a pop. One only she could hear. With it sliding cleanly through to the other side of the flesh, there is no blood, she had been pierced their numerous times and the Shaman lays in a peaceful state. Eyes closed as she breathes in and out, no flinch from the hooks that are placed. There would be eight this time. All in her back, making an outline of where wings would be. Where her scarification was.

There was a mummer from the crowd as they watched in morbid awe as her skin was pierced over and over. A hook placed after each.

What others didn’t know or understand was this was relaxing for the Shaman. She could actually meditate and work through problems in her head while she was suspended by her skin. Not very conventional, but hell, it worked for her. This was her way of finding inner peace, and she was not ashamed of it.

With assistance, she lifts herself from the chair, her breathing calm as the hooks were attached to the rig, her eyes not watching, but focused elsewhere. She was going into her head, into that space that she reserved for these nights. Then a nod to him, she was ready.

Slowly, and carefully, she could feel her body begin to lift. The sensation from the piercings was a mixture of fire and tension. Which dissipated after a couple seconds, as it always did, replaced with a feeling of elation. Her breathing slow and even. Slowly she rose to about fifteen feet in the air, her body was only being held by the eight hooks, and the Shaman looked as peaceful as ever, like she could hang there all day.

To complete the look, at the right point in the music, when the ground lights hit her suspended body just right, she extends her arm out, palms up, head looking down at the crowd that erupted into loud cheers. The Shaman appeared as an angel, with bloody hooks where her wings would have been.

‘Because God knows I don't want to be an angel
God knows I don't want to be an angel
God knows I don't want to be an angel’

Song, Engel, curtsy of Rammstein