Black and white flash design of a skull built from DJ equipment, with headphones, turntable eyes, a mixer panel and a keyboard jaw.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

DJ equipment skull with headphones

Black and grey · Flash

The design shows a skull drawn from DJ equipment, with over-ear headphones across the top and turntables set into the eye sockets. A mixer panel, a graphic equaliser display and rows of faders and knobs fill the skull, and a keyboard forms the teeth. The linework is crisp and solid, with flat black areas and white detail, and the subject is centred on a plain white background.

Skull

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The key to the back room came off a nail behind the bar, where Dai Pritchard had hung it since the colliery closed. The room was the old pit canteen, with a curtain for a door and a sink nobody had unclogged in years. Nobody wanted it. The men who had worked the seam at Cwm Glas still drank in the front bar, arms folded, listening to crooners on the jukebox as though the songs owed them money.

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I found the decks in a crate marked for the tip. Two turntables, a mixer with more knobs than sense, and a pair of headphones with one cushion split and taped. My nephew Rhys said I was daft to plug them in. He said the valley had forgotten how to dance. I told him the valley had only forgotten where it left its shoes. We spent three weekends wiring everything up under a single bulb, because the electrician wanted cash we did not have, and every fuse blew at the moment the bass dropped.

On the first Friday the front bar emptied into our doorway like water through a broken dam. Dai stood at the back with his cap in his hands. Nobody spoke. I dropped the needle on a record my wife had bought in Swansea the year before she left, and the equaliser lit up green and white, bars jumping like a line of men coming off shift. Old Tomos began tapping his boot. Then his sister. Then the whole room was moving, grey dust still in the seams of their trousers.

Dai came over afterwards and pressed the key back into my palm. Keep it, he said. The pit never gave us anything that made the walls shake like that. I still have the key. The headphones hang on the nail beside it, and every Friday someone asks me to play the record again, and I always do, because the needle knows the way home better than any of us.