Realistic colour tattoo of Darth Vader's helmet and a Death Star on an upper arm, with a glowing outstretched hand in the foreground.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Darth Vader and Death Star on upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

A Darth Vader helmet sits beside a grey, cratered Death Star at the top of the design, with a large glowing hand reaching forward in the lower half. The shading is smooth and detailed, with dark black areas framing the helmet and orange and red tones around the hand. The design fills the upper arm and shoulder, with a grey sleeve visible at the edges of the frame.

Realism Upper arm Darth vader Death star Helmet Hand Fire Star wars

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Tom,

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The frost came in on Tuesday and hasn't left the yard since. I have been breaking the skin on the water trough every morning with the heel of the spade, and Dad still won't say whether the ewes will lamb early or late, only that the cold has a grip on the top field like something that means to keep hold. You would hate it. You always said Norfolk was a place for people who wanted to be looked at by nothing but sky.

Mrs Harker from the shop came up with the post on Thursday and asked after you, then asked whether it was true you had gone to some station on a rock in the sea where they fly in the dark. I said I didn't know. I said you had sent one postcard with a picture of a grey ball on it and written on the back that the view was the best in the fleet. She thought that was very funny. I didn't tell her I had the card pinned above the Aga, next to the calendar, because it made the kitchen look less like a kitchen and more like somewhere people leave from.

On Saturday the generator failed in the middle of the milking and the barn went black. I stood in the doorway with the torch and the light caught the lamb pens and the pale backs of the ewes, and for one second I swear I saw a hand held out at chest height, fingers spread, as if someone was asking me to stop. Then I realised it was only my own reflection in the glass of the feed bin, my glove raised against the draught. I laughed so hard I had to sit on a bale.

Write back. Tell me what they feed you out there. Tell me if you have seen the stars close up, or only the ones through the glass. The frost will still be here when you do.

Love, Ruth