Colour tattoo of a cartoon face with ginger hair and blue eyes pushing through torn skin on the stomach, with a tongue piercing visible in the open mouth.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cartoon face bursting through skin on stomach

Other · Colour · Photo

A cartoon face with ginger hair, blue eyes and a wide open mouth appears to break through the skin, with two hands pulling the opening apart. The shading is soft and painterly, with pink skin tones, a red tongue and a small green jewel on a tongue piercing. The design is centred on the stomach and sits within a lightly coloured background of skin.

Other Cartoon face Blue eye Tongue Hand Torn skin

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The shout came off the back wall of the bingo hall just as Maureen was hauling the tarp over her bootlace tray. It had been raining since seven, the sort that came sideways down Kirkgate and found every gap in a coat, and the painted face on the hoarding had been getting restless all morning. Dennis the sign-writer had done it the summer before, for a bet and a pint, and nobody had expected it to take. Now the ginger head was pushing through the paper, two painted hands clamped on the edges, pulling the tear wider with a noise like wet cardboard.

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"Mind the drips," Maureen said, which was the wrong thing to say. The boy howled that he had been stuck in a wall for eleven months and the wall had never once asked how he was. His tongue came out, pink and stud-pierced with a green stone that caught the grey light, and he flicked a bead of drizzle off it. Ravi from the fishmonger's leaned over his counter with his hood up and offered a tenner for a closer look. Maureen waved him off.

She went under the tarp for her flask bag and came back with a jam doughnut, half a sausage roll and the last of her tea in a lid. She held them up to the hole. The boy stopped mid-scream, sniffed, and with a sigh that rattled the hoarding he let his hands fall. The tear stopped spreading.

"Right," said Maureen, "you can have these if you stand the stall on Saturdays." He looked at the rain, then the bootlaces, then the doughnut, and pulled himself out through the gap, dripping and very small against the brick. He tucked the tarp corner over the laces with painted fingers. By dinnertime he had sold six pairs, and the wall behind him had gone back to being a wall, pale and blank except for a smear of jam.