Black fine line tattoo of an elephant inside a long snake-like outline on the upper arm, with a grey t-shirt sleeve above.

Fine line elephant in a snake outline on upper arm

Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A small line drawing of an elephant sits inside a long, curving snake-like outline that stretches horizontally across the upper arm. The linework is thin and uniform in black ink, with no shading or fill. The skin is pale and the background is a plain light wall, with a grey marled t-shirt sleeve and dark hair at the top of the frame.

Fine line Upper arm Elephant Snake Line drawing Outline

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The Pomfret Brothers' menagerie had pitched in Barrowby for nine wet days, and by the tenth Enid Parr had stopped counting the ledger's losses in pounds and started counting them in buckets. Marjorie the elephant would not step onto the wet boards of the ramp. She stood in the field behind the Corn Exchange with her trunk curled under her chin, as if the ground had told her something unkind. Behind the wagons the boa constrictor, Lorraine, lay in her long crate, pale as lemon peel, and refused the rabbits.

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Jim Pomfret, the elder brother, said the animals were tired of being looked at. Enid thought they were tired of being owned. She had a drawer full of letters from the council about the field, the rates and the rent, and a pencil she kept behind one ear. On the Thursday she sat on an upturned crate with the ledger on her knee and drew Marjorie on the back of a handbill, long and slow, the way her mother had taught her to draw a river: one line, never lifting the pencil. When she finished, the elephant was small and folded in the middle of the page, and the line wrapped round her like a sentence that would not end.

"You've made her a snake's dinner," said Tom, the boy who fed Lorraine. He was thirteen and certain of everything. "That's a boa. They go round and round what they mean to swallow."

"It's a picture," Enid said. "She isn't going anywhere."

On Friday the rain stopped. Jim sold Marjorie to a farmer from Ropsley for forty pounds and the promise of a dry barn, and the wagons rolled out before dinner. Enid kept the handbill. Years later, when the drawing had gone soft at the folds, she still could not say which of the two had been holding the other.