Fine line black tattoo of a small figure pulling a long cord toward a light bulb, placed on the ankle and top of the foot.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Figure pulling a cord on an ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

The photographs show a fine line tattoo of a small cartoon figure holding a long cord that stretches across the top of the foot toward a light bulb. The linework is thin and even in black ink, with no shading or fill. The top of the image is a line drawing of the same scene with a short verse, and the two foot photographs are composed side by side with the tattoo clearly visible.

Fine line Ankle Figure Cord Light bulb Line drawing

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Mabel,

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The apples are coming in heavy this year, and so is Uncle Teddy's latest notion. You'll remember he spent the spring up the big walnut tree rigging a line of old bicycle wire from the orchard gate to the cider shed, hoping the wind would carry his lantern from one to the other. It did not. It carried the lantern into Mrs Pryce's washing, which is still drying in the hedge.

This week he has gone further. He has a bulb the size of a turnip, wired to a length of brown flex he bought off a man in Ludlow, and he means to plug the far end into the sun. I told him the sun has no socket. He said that was the first thing he'd thought of and the last thing he'd worry about. He has been pacing the paddock with the coil over his shoulder, paying out flex like a fisherman, and every evening he comes in with it a yard shorter than he went out with, because the brambles keep eating it.

Last night he sat on the mounting block with his boots off and the bulb in his lap and said the trouble was never the light. It was the length. Whatever he built, he would always be a few feet short of where the thing needed to go.

I didn't know what to say to that, so I brought him a cup of tea and a windfall to bite. This morning the bulb was hanging in the Bramley tree with the flex looped twice round the trunk, and there was a chalk line on the path from the gate to the shed, marked off in hops, as if he'd measured the distance and found it simply wouldn't do.

Write soon, and tell me if the Coxes are ripe yet.

Love, Edie