Colour tattoo of a large pink and orange flower with green swirling vines and small cartoon cars across the upper back.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Flower and small cars on upper back

Botanical · Back · Colour · Photo

A large five-petalled flower in pink, orange and yellow sits at the centre, with green curling vines extending to the left and right. Small cartoon cars in red, pink, yellow and grey are placed along the vines and petals. The shading is soft and smooth with bright, saturated colour against the skin, framed by the subject's back and pink top.

Botanical Back Flower Vine Swirl Car Cartoon Petal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You first hear them before you see them, a rattle of tin wheels somewhere above the bracken, like a toy shop being shaken. Your grandmother always said the Hollow Wood was full of such noises and you should keep to the lane. But the lane has been dry since May, and the tap in the village hall has coughed brown water for a week, so you take the path past the stile with a flask and a stubborn streak.

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The flower stands in the clearing where the old oak was struck. Five petals, each the colour of a sunset held too long, orange bleeding to pink at the edges, a yellow heart that catches the light like a lamp. Green vines spiral out from its stem and curl back on themselves, and along them, bumping over the tendrils, crawl cars no bigger than your thumb: a red one, a pink one, a grey one with a dent in its roof, a yellow one with its headlamps lit. Their drivers wave. Nobody waves at you in this village anymore.

The grey one stops by your boot and a tiny door swings open. Out steps a woman in a leather flying cap, no taller than a matchstick, holding a rolled map of the valley. "The spring's gone under the ridge," she says, tapping the petals. "We've been drinking dew from the flower's cup for three summers, but the cup is nearly dry, and your village lost its well the same week. We need someone who can carry water up the hill."

You follow the cars up the vine, over the spirals, down into a hollow where a spring runs bright under the roots. You fill the flask, then fill it again, and when you look back the flower has folded its petals shut for the night, the little cars parked in a neat row like a garage at closing time. You carry the water home. By morning the tap runs clear, and somewhere out in the Hollow Wood a horn gives two cheerful toots.