Small fine line tattoo of a curled monkey with a long tail on the inner wrist, in black ink with soft grey shading on the face.

Curled monkey on the inner wrist

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A small monkey is drawn in a continuous curved outline, with its head tilted down and its long tail wrapping around its body. The linework is bold and slightly soft-edged, with grey shading inside the face and ear to suggest depth. The tattoo is black ink only, placed on the inner wrist against a plain light background.

Fine line Hand Monkey Animal Tail

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Hush now, the wind is only counting the stones again. Scoot closer, and mind the broken step, for the old lord's cook fell through it and never came up cross about it. Where was I? Ah, the monkey. There was a grey monkey who lived in the cliffs above Greywater Keep, where the bell tower lost its roof in the great storm. Her troop went down to the valley orchards every autumn, and every autumn she was the last to climb back, because she stopped to pick the sour plums nobody else would bother with. One year the snow came early. The troop went over the ridge and she did not see them go.

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So she did what small things do when the world turns white. She curled herself up on the warm side of the broken wall, drew her long tail round her body like a rope round a bucket, and tucked her chin down so the frost could not find her face. She waited. The bell above her rang once, then twice, though no one had rung it for forty years, and she took it as a sign that someone was still awake in the keep.

Morning came pale and sharp. Her troop were not there, but a boy from the village was, trudging up with a sack of grain and a lantern gone dark. He stopped when he saw her. He did not shoo her away. He set the grain down, sat on the cold stone, and waited with her until the sun was high enough to melt the rime from her tail. Then he shared the grain, one kernel at a time, and went home without saying a word about it.

That is the whole of it, and do not let anyone tell you it has a moral. The monkey lived to be very old, and the boy grew up to be the miller, and when I was a child he told me this story himself, with snow still on his boots.