Two photos of a solid black blackwork tattoo of two crossed rifles with a heart between them, placed on the ankle.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Crossed rifles and heart on an ankle

Blackwork · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows two crossed rifle silhouettes with a solid black heart sitting between the barrels and stocks. It is filled in solid black with smooth, even edges and no shading or fine detail. Two side-by-side photographs show the same design on what appears to be a lower leg near the ankle, against a dark background.

Blackwork Ankle Heart Silhouette Gun

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dennis Waite came to our back door at six on a Saturday in March with his coat buttoned wrong and asked my mother for the spare key to the rifle cabinet. Nobody in Stapleford had seen him without his brother Len at his elbow, and Len had not spoken to him since the Whit fair, when the two of them fought over Peggy Dunn outside the Royal Oak and ended up in the duckpond. Mum gave him the key anyway. She had known them both since they were boys, and the range was hers to keep, having been her father's before her.

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I went down with him. The cabinet smelled of gun oil and damp sacking. On the inside of the door, somebody had long ago pencilled two crossed rifles with a heart sitting between the barrels, the way boys draw things they think are clever, and nobody had ever wiped it off. Dennis stood looking at it with his hand still on the key.

"Len did that," he said. "The summer we both made the county team and Peggy still hadn't picked." He took the pencil from behind my ear, went over the heart until it was solid black, and handed it back to me. "Len's coming at nine. Tell him the heart's his."

Len came at nine and said nothing. He took the pencil and filled in the barrels until they matched the heart. Peggy married a postman from Hadley that autumn, and neither man went to the wedding. But the next Saturday they both turned up at the butts, shooting side by side at the same target, and when the card came back there was one hole in the centre, and nobody in Stapleford ever agreed on whose it was.