Colour realism tattoo of a grey alien with glowing orange eyes against a purple and blue starry sky, on the upper leg.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Alien head in a starry sky

Realism · Thigh · Colour · Photo

A grey alien head with large, glowing orange-red eyes fills the centre of the design, with a small flying saucer at the lower left. The skin texture, wrinkles and eye highlights are rendered with smooth, detailed shading. Purple, blue and violet tones form a galaxy background speckled with white stars.

Realism Thigh Alien Ufo Star Space Galaxy Eye

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lamp in the cabin had gone out again, so Dai Hopkins sat in the dark with his flask going cold and watched the tip through the cracked pane. Glynhafod had been quiet since the last shift went down in March, and quiet was what the night men were paid for, though nobody had told the sky. Above the spoil heap the stars were thick as sparks, and one of them was moving against the wind.

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It came down slow, a flat disc with a rim of pale light, and settled on the slag a stone's throw from the cabin. The hatch opened without a sound. Dai expected men in oilskins or a surveyor from the council. What stepped out was grey and long-skulled, no taller than a boy of twelve, and it stood with its head tilted as though listening to the winding gear that had not turned in years. Its eyes were the colour of a furnace door left ajar, and they found the cabin window before Dai could move.

He should have run. Instead he lifted the dead lamp and pointed at it, the way his father had shown him to signal a mate in the dark. The creature raised one thin hand, palm out, and then pointed past him at the old lamp-room, where forty years of carbide tins still sat stacked on the shelf.

Dai understood then. Someone had come looking for the light that used to rise out of the ground, and the valley had let the lamps go out one by one. He carried the tins out, four of them, and set them on the slag in a row. The creature bent over them and the eyes flared, bright enough to throw his shadow long across the wet black stone. By morning the tins were gone, and in the ash where they had stood were four small round prints, each one still faintly warm.