Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Black tribal swirl design

Black and grey · Flash

The image shows a solid black tribal-style design of tapered, curved strokes on a plain white background. The shapes sweep and interlock around a central junction, with thick and thin sections creating a sense of movement. The design is flat and graphic, with no shading, and appears in black ink only.

Tribal Swirl Abstract Curve

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Ruth, the rain has not stopped since Tuesday and the market at Sallow Cross has turned to soup. I am writing this under the tarpaulin of the eel stall because Dad says the price cards will run if I leave them out, and somebody has to watch the tins while the pitch floods. You will laugh, but I have spent the whole morning untangling the old eel nets he kept from the estuary years, black tarred cord gone stiff as wire. Every knot wants to close back on the one before it. You pull a loop free and it tightens round your wrist.

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Mr Okonedo from the flower stall came over with a bucket of tea and watched me work for a while. He said the knots were the net's way of keeping its shape, that if you cut every one you lose the whole thing. So I stopped cutting and began following the cord with my thumb, from one bend to the next, the way you would trace a river on a map. Where two strands cross they tuck under and come out the other side tapering off like a tail, thick where they start and thin where they give up. By the time the bell went for half twelve I had three long curved runs of tarred cord lying on the wet boards, and they swept round each other like swimmers who had agreed not to touch.

Dad came back with the van keys, saw them and said nothing, which from him is a compliment. He lifted the nearest curve and laid it across my palm and said it looked like the mark his mother used to draw on the back of the tide tables. I have not seen that mark since she died. I think I will try to draw it for you on the back of this page, though my hand is shaking from the cold and it will come out crooked.

Leave the kettle on for me Sunday. Love, Nell. P.S. Tell Mum the eels have gone up again.