Colour realism tattoo of figures walking along railway tracks through a wooded area, placed on the calf.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Figures on railway tracks on a calf

Realism · Calf · Colour · Photo

The tattoo shows several figures on a railway track, with some looking back and others with arms raised, set against dense green trees. The shading is smooth and painterly, with detail in the clothing, the wooden sleepers and the foliage. Bright greens, blues and warm skin tones dominate, and the scene wraps around the calf with the tracks leading down the leg.

Find an artist for this

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

The rails hummed before any of you heard the whistle, which Teddy swore proved he had the only decent ears in Coldharbour. Nobody argued. The line ran straight out of the cutting and into the sycamores, its sleepers black with creosote and soft in the heat, and the four of you walked it in single file the way your fathers had walked it before the timetable got thin. Dennis carried the bag of crisps inside his shirt to keep it dry. Frankie, who was eleven and wanted everyone to know it, kept his arms out for balance like a man on a wire at the fair.

Keep reading

The trees closed in until the light came down green and thick, and the cinder path beside the track disappeared under bracken. Every few sleepers somebody glanced back at the way home, the way you do when you know the town is still there behind the leaves. Frankie lifted a hand towards the embankment, where the birches blurred, as though someone were waving from a carriage window. Nobody was. Teddy said that was the sort of thing that happened to boys who walked too far.

The whistle came again, closer, and the rails began to sing under your palms. You stepped off onto the gravel verge and stood with the nettles stinging your calves while a goods train crept past, slow and rust-red, its driver lifting one finger from the sill. The wind it pushed through the ferns smelled of hot oil and cut grass. When the last wagon had gone and its red lamp had shrunk to a spark among the trunks, Dennis looked down and found the crisps had split in his shirt and were gone into the ditch.

You fished them out anyway, one by one, and shared the broken pieces on the sleepers. The crickets had started up again. None of you said the walk home was longer than the walk out, and none of you needed the map.

More like this

From the plentytattoo archive, uploaded by a user. Is this your work? Ask for credit or removal.