Black and grey botanical tattoo of a rose with leaves and a small daisy on the upper arm, with a woman in a floral dress visible in the background.

Black and grey rose on an upper arm

Botanical · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A large rose, shaded in black and grey, sits on the outer upper arm with its leaves extending down toward the elbow. A small daisy-like bloom and a few buds are placed above the rose, with fine stems and grass-like strokes. The shading uses soft grey gradients, and the background of a dark floral dress and a blurred room keeps the focus on the arm.

Botanical Upper arm Rose Peony Leaves Daisy Flower Bud Stem

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lift at Calder House had been broken since the wet spring, so Mrs Pell took the stairs with a bag of compost on her hip and a tin of cuttings under her arm. Fourteen floors. She counted them out loud the way her mother had counted rosary beads, and on the landing by the bin chute she stopped to rest and found the peony already there, pushing through a crack in the concrete as if it had been waiting for someone to notice.

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Nobody on the estate would say who had planted it. The boys from flat nine said it was the daisy's doing, the little bloom that came up beside it with its own yellow eye, though the daisy had been there first, shouldering through the grass that grew out of the drain. Mrs Pell had her own view. Peonies, her mother always said, take three years to bloom and need a hard winter to remember how. This one had come up in June and had been opening all week.

She knelt and pressed the compost in around its roots. Behind her, the door of flat fourteen opened and a man in a work vest came out holding a letter he had not yet read. He stood and watched her hands. Neither of them spoke. After a while he set the letter on the step, went back inside, and she heard the kettle go on.

By Friday the buds had swollen into heavy heads, and the whole stairwell smelled of something sweet and stubborn. On Saturday morning the lift shuddered and began to climb. Mrs Pell didn't take it. She sat on the landing with her back against the wall and watched the one bloom that had dared to open, its petals loose as a dressing gown, and thought that the lift would be mended by the time anyone came to cut it down.