Two forearms with brown ink designs: a winged angel with its face in its hands and the words Don't Blink, beside a police box with spirals and a crescent moon.

Angel and police box forearm designs

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A winged angel covers its face with its hands on the left forearm, with a crescent moon, swirling clouds and the words Don't Blink beneath. The right forearm shows a police box surrounded by spirals, dots, a crescent moon and small doodled shapes. The fine outlines are drawn in dark brown ink with no shading, and the image appears to show temporary henna-style ink rather than a healed tattoo.

Forearm Angel Winged figure Crescent moon Cloud Spiral Police box Lettering Dot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lift at Carrow House had been broken since the spring, so the children carried their news up the stairs instead, one flight at a time. The news that summer was about the angel on the landing of the eleventh floor. She stood in the corner by the fire door, stone wings folded, hands pressed over her face, and the old people said she had been there since the block went up, though nobody knew who had carved her. Look away from her, Nasim Pike told the new boy from Flat 40, and she takes a step nearer.

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Dev did not believe it, so on the Tuesday he counted her stairs on purpose. He stood with his back to the wall, eyes on the cracked tiles, and counted to a hundred under his breath. When he finally looked up she was nearer, though only by the width of a finger, and the crescent moon painted above the fire door had slid to a different corner. Down in the car park, between the bins, a blue box with a lamp on its roof had appeared, humming like a fridge.

A man in a coat too big for him climbed out with a tin of biscuits and a bent umbrella and asked Dev what year it was. Dev told him. The man sighed and said he had been aiming for the year the lift still worked, then asked whether the angel had mentioned where she had come from. Dev said she had not mentioned anything. The man looked pleased and said that was how you knew she was honest.

They went up together. The man would not look at her, not once, and talked the whole way about spirals and the sea. When they reached the eleventh floor the landing was empty, a clean square of tiles, and the box below had gone. All that was left was a faint crescent on the wall and, scratched into the paint at knee height, DON'T BLINK in a child's careful capitals. Dev never told anyone, though Nasim said he grew very quiet about the stairs after that.