Small black fine line tattoo of a flock of birds in flight on the inner wrist, next to layered bracelets.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Flock of birds on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small flock of about six black birds in flight sits on the inner wrist, rising in a loose diagonal line from left to right. The linework is thin and solid black with no shading, and the ink is crisp against the pale skin. The photograph is taken from close range, with long brown hair, a patterned top and several bracelets with peace sign charms in the background.

Fine line Forearm Bird Flock Flying

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dai Mercer's whistle had gone at four, and still the cage hadn't come up. Ada stood on the wet cinders at the top of the heap with her shawl knotted under her chin and counted starlings. Six rose from the lamp-room roof where they roosted, lifted over the sidings in a loose slant, and cleared the chapel before they turned for the coast.

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Her mother said never count birds on a pit day, that it drew bad luck down the shaft after the men. Ada counted anyway, because counting was the only thing her hands could manage. One, two, three. The flock bent above the coke ovens and she lost the fourth in the smoke, then found it again, a fleck of ink against the yellow sky. Behind her the wives had gathered at the gate and were not speaking, the way they never did.

The cage came up at ten past five with its bell ringing twice, and Len stepped off first, grey to the eyebrows, blinking like an owl at the daylight. He saw her and lifted a hand, then seemed to forget what it was for. "Lost the lamp," he said, as if that were the worst of it, and she took his black fingers in her own and didn't care who saw.

The men came off one at a time, and Ada counted them the way she had counted the birds. One, two, three, four, five. The sixth was Owen Pryce from Number Two, limping but upright, and his wife ran through the gate before anyone could stop her. Ada let her own count go. Above the chapel roof the flock had gone, all six of them, a dark slant on the way to the sea, and for once she didn't watch them out of sight.