Close photo of a small fine line black tattoo of scissors with a tiny heart on the side of a finger, worn beside a silver band ring.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Fine line scissors tattoo on a finger

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A close view of a hand with the palm turned down, showing a small tattoo of open scissors on the side of one finger. The scissors are drawn in thin black single lines, with circular handles and a tiny heart shape above the blades. The background is a dark surface, and the image is in black and grey tones with a plain, uncluttered composition.

Fine line Hand Scissors Heart

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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 wardrobe wagon smelled of mothballs and wet dog, and I had the last of the trapeze silk across my knees when Hector Vane put his head through the door asking for the blue. There was no blue. There was a slashed length of it, torn along the hem by a nail or a rat, and I had already decided it would become a bodice for the little tumbler, whose shoulders had grown since spring.

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My shears were the only thing on that wagon I trusted. They had been my mother's, their handles worn to a shine by forty years of taking in other people's costumes. Hector watched me snip the silk into a clean strip and said the show was finished, the tent would be sold by autumn, so what did sequins matter now. I told him sequins had never been the point. The point was a girl lifting her arms in something that fitted.

On the last night we played the market square at Harrow Bridge. The rain came sideways and nobody bought a ticket. I sat with the shears open across my palm, lamplight running along the blades, while the tumbler came in soaked, arms wrapped round herself, and said nothing. I knelt, measured her with a length of string, and began to cut.

By morning the bodice hung on a nail above the stove, blue and flat as a sky. Hector never came back for the takings or the tent. But the girl wore it to a dance hall in Skegness the next summer, and a letter found me care of the post office saying she had been called the best-dressed trapeze in the county. I keep it folded small in the scissor case, where the blades can't reach it.