Colour tattoo of a spiky-haired animated character seen from behind in a dark hooded outfit, standing on splashes of water, on the calf.

Animated character tattoo on a calf

Calf · Colour · Photo

The tattoo shows a spiky-haired animated character seen from behind, wearing a dark hooded outfit with yellow straps and holding a red-accented object at the hip. The figure stands on a base of blue and grey splashes. The linework is bold and clean, with soft shading on the cloth and graduated colour in the hair.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You see Dev from behind first, across the sports hall at Ashgrove, the way you always saw him: a green parka hood going out of a door before the bell has finished ringing. Somebody has strung fairy lights along the climbing bars and set an urn of stewed tea by the fire exit, and the whole room smells of floor polish and nostalgia, which is to say, of gym socks. Your name badge says Kath with a question mark drawn on it in biro, which you did not do.

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"Still bolting first?" you say to his back. He turns, and the years fall off him a little. He still has the rucksack with the yellow webbing straps, now holding a bottle of supermarket prosecco and a laminated timetable from 1997. "Only to get a head start on the sea wall," he says. You remember the Year Ten trip to Cold Harbour, when he jumped off that wall fully dressed to win a bet with Mr Pryce, and the water came up to his knees and no higher, and he stood in it laughing as though he had been crowned.

You tell him the wall has been fenced off since 2003. He says he knows, he drove past it on Tuesday, and he has been circling the car park for an hour deciding whether to walk down. You ask what changed his mind. He holds up his phone: a photo of his daughter standing on the very same wall, the tide behind her, arms out, chin up, not a care in the world. "Thought someone should stand there properly," he says.

You walk out together, the tarmac shining under the lamps like wet slate. At the gate he pulls his hood up against the drizzle and lifts a hand the way he always did, without turning round. You stand a moment longer than you need to, because somewhere past the car park the sea is still doing what it always did, and you realise you have been looking at the empty space where he was for a long time.

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