Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Concentric dotted circles on a palm
Dotwork · Hand · Black and grey · Photo
A small tattoo of two concentric rings made of separate dots sits near the base of the palm. The ink is solid black with no shading, and the dots are evenly spaced to form clean circular outlines. The hand fills most of the frame against a pale grey floor, with a grey shoe at the left edge and a grey paper package with pink string at the bottom.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The pit at Hollin Gate had been dry for eleven years when Ada Crake first heard it talking. She went down the old ladder with a candle stub in her teeth and a tin of pennies in her apron, because her father had said a dry shaft still keeps its tongue. At the bottom the air was cold as slate. She knelt on the wet floor and dropped a penny into the sump.
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The water rang back in rings. Each ring spread out from the drop, dark and even, and where it touched the far wall it came back quieter and went round again. Ada counted them. Seven rings, then nine, each one spaced as neatly as the teeth of a comb. Her father had told her the sump was a well that ran down under the hills to the sea, and that the sea answered anyone who knocked properly.
She knocked. The sump answered with a ring of its own, and then a voice came up through the stone, low and patient, asking what she would give for the rings she had made. Ada thought of her brother, who had gone under the Blackmoor seam in March and not come up. She asked for him. The voice said the sea kept what it was given, and it took her last penny, the one she had been saving for bread, and went quiet.
Ada climbed back up the ladder with her hands raw. At the top, in the grey light, her brother was sitting on the spoil heap with his boots in his lap, dripping, and he looked at her as if she had only been gone an hour. Behind him the rain had drawn rings on every puddle in the yard, and she saw that each one was made of dots.
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