Colourful painted-style tattoo of a blue stylised face with yellow eyes and red lips, with flowers below, on the side of the ribs.

Blue stylised face tattoo on the ribs

Ribs · Colour · Photo

The tattoo shows a stylised face with a turquoise blue wash, yellow eyes, dark brows, a red mouth and loose lines over the forehead and cheek. Below, a cluster of red, yellow and orange flowers or shapes sits on a rectangular base. The shading is soft and painterly with visible colour blending rather than solid outlines, and the design fills the side of the torso against a brown knit sleeve.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit down, the lot of you, and shift that bag off the bench, the seven fourteen is never on time. Now. You want the story of the blue lady of Platform Four? Then hush.

Keep reading

She came off the night mail in the winter of the great frost with a tin trunk and no ticket, and the porters swore she had painted her face in the blue of the river, because she had walked the whole way from the coast following the water. Her eyes were the yellow of a gas lamp, and her mouth was red as a pillar box, and she never once wiped either. Every morning she opened the trunk on the bench by the waiting room and set out flowers, marigolds and poppies and bunches of something nobody could name, in cracked pots she fished from the bins behind the parcel office. Folk bought them for sweethearts, for mothers in the hospital on the hill, for the dead they were going to visit in the churchyard past the cutting.

Nobody asked her where the flowers came from. The stationmaster, Mr Pardoe, a man who counted sugar lumps in his tea, tried once. She handed him a marigold and said the flowers came from the same place as the trains, which is to say somewhere else, and that he would miss the eleven forty if he stood there gaping. He missed it. He never forgave her, and he bought a bunch every Friday for the rest of his days.

When the branch line closed in the spring of the Coronation year, the trunk was still on the platform, lid up and empty, and the blue lady was gone. All that remained was a single poppy pressed flat between the pages of the timetable board, its red faded to the colour of a bruise. So if you ever catch the last train out, keep your eyes on the windows. Mind the gap, mind the flowers, and never tell Mr Pardoe I said so.

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