Black crescent moon with white star cut-outs along its inner edge and a trail of small black stars falling beneath it, shown as a flash design on a plain white background.

Crescent moon with falling stars design

Black and grey · Flash

A solid black crescent moon sits at the top of the design, with small white five-pointed stars cut into its inner curve. A cascade of black stars in varying sizes falls from the lower edge of the moon, tapering to a few small stars at the bottom. The design is shown in solid black on white, with no shading or colour, and is centred in the frame.

Moon Crescent moon Star Celestial

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The generator coughs twice before the lights come on, and by then you have already counted the cash tin for the third time. Mr Oakes wants the Waltzer shut by eleven, the lot packed by two, and the lorries rolling for Chesterfield before the dew burns off. You pull the last cable from the dark and look up, because the sky over the showground has gone clean for once, no cloud, no orange haze from the bypass.

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Someone has strung a paper crescent over the candyfloss stall, painted silver and bent by rain. Nell, who runs the hoopla, swears it was lit from inside when they arrived in March. You don't believe in things like that. But when a star slips loose from the sky and tumbles over the Big Wheel in a loose line like sparks off a grinder, you find yourself walking after it, past the goldfish tanks and the sleeping dog by the generator, until the grass gives out at the field's edge.

There, lying in the wet, is a small iron bell with five points cut through its rim, warm as bread. Hooked on its handle is a ticket stub dated 1962, punched with a little moon. You turn it over and read the name of the fair, Harrow and Sons Travelling Amusements, and beneath it, in faded pencil, Keep the sky tidy. You laugh out loud, alone in the field, and the laugh comes back to you off the wheel.

By morning the stars have gone from the sky and returned to the paper crescent, every one of them, and the bell is in your coat pocket, ringing softly whenever you move. Mr Oakes never asks where you were at two. You hang the crescent over the Waltzer where it belongs, and you do not tell anyone the ticket has a second line on the back, in the same pencil, reading: Your turn now.