Traditional tattoo of a red-rimmed eyeball with black wings, orange and red flames and small stars on a limb, in bold colour.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Eyeball with wings and flames traditional tattoo

Traditional · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

A bold traditional design shows a red-rimmed eyeball with a dark iris set in a frame, flanked by black wings and a dagger-like form with a dripping lower edge. Red, orange and yellow flames and small star shapes surround the central motif. The linework is thick and black with solid fills and bright colour, and the design fills the frame against a dark background.

Traditional Upper arm Eye Wing Flame Star Dagger Drip

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The fire came down Hobb's Ridge on a Tuesday in August, and by the time the church bell had been rung twice nobody in Marrow Cross could say who had lit it. Only the lamp on the Mill Road gate was still burning clean, a red-rimmed glass eye set in a brass frame that old Ada Penhale had hung there the summer her husband went under the threshing wheel. People said it could see through smoke. People said a lot of things in Marrow Cross.

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Her grandson Tom ran the bellows at the forge and did not believe a word of it. He took the long black dagger from the tool wall, the one with the dripping edge his grandfather had used to cut loose the wagon harness, and he walked up the lane with a bucket on each arm. The wings on the gate post seemed to be beating in the heat, and the flames had already licked over the hedge into the Coopers' orchard.

He did not fight the fire. He stood where the lamp could see him, held a bucket up to the red eye so its light fell across the lane, and waited. The smoke parted along that line of light the way a crowd parts for a man who is expected. Behind him Mrs Cooper came out in her nightdress with a sack of wet blankets and said nothing at all, which was the most anyone in town had ever said to Tom Penhale about his foolishness.

By dawn the orchard was black stumps and the lane was clean. Tom oiled the dagger, hung it back on its hook, and found the old woman's painted eye had gone a shade darker along the rim, as if it had been crying into the smoke. He never told anyone. He just carried the bucket up to the gate each evening and filled the brass cup with water, in case.