Black and grey tattoo of a winged pig flying across the upper arm, with shaded feathered wings and soft shading on the body.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Flying pig with wings on upper arm

Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A pig with feathered wings is shown mid-flight, facing left and angled slightly downward. The tattoo uses grey shading for the body and feathers, with darker outlines defining the snout, legs and wing edges. The design sits on the outer upper arm against plain skin, with the wings extending above the pig's back.

Upper arm Pig Wing Feather

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer, the lot of you, because the wind off the fairground fields has teeth tonight and I'll not shout over it. Aye, that's the pig. You've all heard about the pig. Old Mr Arkwright's Travelling Marvels had three elephants once and a lion that snored, but by the summer of the flood there was only Hamish, and Hamish could not fly.

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He tried, mind. Every evening at the close of the show he'd climb the painted ladder to the platform, strap on a pair of goose wings the seamstress had stitched from bolting cloth and rope, and every evening the crowd would cheer before he'd even left the boards. Then down he'd go into the sawdust with a grunt that sounded remarkably like an apology.

Then came the night a gust off the estuary tore the big top from its pegs and the canvas came down like a sheet off a washing line. Arkwright was bawling for lanterns. The children were crying. And Hamish, who had never once got off the ground, trotted straight through the torn flap, across the wet field, and took off over the hedgerow as though someone had finally shown him the trick of it.

Nobody saw him land. The lamplighter swore he went up over the church spire, wings beating slow and grey against the moon. The vicar swore he didn't, but the vicar was also drunk. Morning came cold and bright, and Arkwright found the platform empty except for one long feather lying in the sawdust where Hamish always stood. He pinned it above the ticket box. When the last of the crowds came asking after the pig, he'd only tap the glass and say, 'Ask the feather. It's the only one of us who ever got off the ground.'