Black fine line tattoo of a globe with landmass outlines inside a circle, sitting on the forearm of a person in a striped top, with a hand pointing at it.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Circular globe outline on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small circular tattoo of a globe sits on the forearm, with a hand with rings pointing at it. The landmasses and coastlines are drawn in thin black linework with a few shaded contours, and the circle is cleanly outlined. The composition is a close crop of the arm against a striped top and a tan leather vest, with a plain, softly lit background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Ray Dunn had the last of the cod half gutted when Oddie told him to leave it, wash his hands and fetch the globe from the wheelhouse shelf. The boat was rolling hard off the Faroes, and the globe had been lashed there since the Marguerite Rose was a Hull boat, its brass ring gone green at the meridian. Nobody aboard had touched it in Ray's time except to dust it.

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"Fish move," Oddie said, when Ray set it on the chart table. He turned the sphere with two fingers until the thin black coastlines swung past the window: Greenland, then the long ragged edge of Norway, then a cold blue patch with no name on it. "Fifty years of skippers drew the grounds on paper and forgot paper bends. This is the shape the water actually is. Go on. Show me where the herring went."

Ray traced the line of the Rockall bank with a wet thumb, and it was the first time anyone had asked him something he could answer with his eyes shut. They ran north on his reckoning. The catch that week filled the hold to the hatch boards, and the owner in Grimsby paid without comment.

That night Ray found the globe back on its shelf, turned so the Humber lay under the lamp. Someone had pencilled a tiny cross on the coast beside it, a village with no harbour, and under it, in Oddie's careful capitals, HOME, NOT YET. Ray left it where it was and went to bed listening to the hull talk.

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