A hand with black nails rests on the chest showing a grey crystal tattoo on the upper chest and small outlined circle tattoos on the fingers, with a stone and gold crescent necklace.

Crystal chest tattoo with finger circles

Geometric · Chest · Black and grey · Photo

A hand with black nails rests against a dark top, showing a geometric crystal cluster tattooed on the upper chest in grey shading. Simple outlined circles sit on several fingers, and a faceted grey stone pendant and hammered gold crescent hang from a chain across the hand. The close framing keeps the focus on the skin and jewellery.

Geometric Chest Hand Crystal Circle Crescent moon Necklace

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the ruts, they'll have your axle off before the sun clears the ridge. Sit on the crate, not the other one, it's got a nail in it. Right. You want the grey stone story? Then listen properly, because I'll not tell it twice to a man who keeps checking his watch.

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My grandmother kept a stall where the Corrow road bends into the salt flats, and she traded in whatever the wind dropped on the ridge: glassy bits, cracked bits, stones that looked like they'd been pressed between two thumbs. The best of them was a faceted grey piece, cut like a fist that had closed around a secret. She swore it came out of the crater under the crescent, and every night she'd sit with it in her lap and count the moon's shapes on her fingers, one ring for each phase, pressing the thumb round like a rosary until the stars came out.

A driver called Anselm Vire pulled in one afternoon, sunburnt and in a hurry, wanting something pretty for his wife's birthday. She told him the stone would only leave the stall once a gold moon had been hammered to match it. He laughed, then stopped laughing, because the grey piece had gone cold in the heat and was beading with water like a glass of something from the well. He offered her his silver watch. She shook her head and pointed at the sky, where the crescent was just rising thin as a fingernail.

He didn't come back for the watch. In the morning the road had a new bend in it, and the stall was gone, though the crate still sat there with its nail. If you look at the salt just past the ridge, you'll see a small hammered moon winking up from the dust. Don't pick it up. It only goes home to whoever counts.