Fine line tattoo of four small coloured symbols running down the inner forearm: a green leaf curve, a red flame, a blue spiral and a yellow lightning bolt.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Four coloured symbols on an inner forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Colour · Photo

Four small separate symbols are tattooed in a vertical line down the inner forearm, from near the wrist: a green leaf-like curve, a red flame shape, a blue spiral and an orange-yellow lightning bolt. The linework is thin and even, with flat solid colour and no shading. The photograph is taken against a dark background with the arm raised at the top of the frame.

Fine line Forearm Leaf Flame Spiral Lightning bolt Symbol

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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

Sit down by the stove, you, and mind the fiddler's case, because the tune isn't finished and neither is the story. The Starlight Ballroom at Ferrypoint had four doors, and above each one a sign had been painted by a man who wrote his letters backwards when he was tired. Green for the north door, where the marsh wind came in with reeds caught in the dancers' hair. Red for the south door, where the boiler man kept his coal hot and his temper hotter. Blue for the east door, where the tide crept under the threshold every spring. And orange, jagged as a fence wire, for the west door, where the electrician had once taken a shock that sent him dancing across the floor himself.

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Ada Pennock swept that floor for thirty years. She knew every sign by heart and every draught by its name. On the last Saturday before the hall was to be pulled down, the band struck up the Pennock Two-Step, the one her dead husband had scribbled on the back of a tram ticket, and the lights went out in the middle of the bar.

In the dark, the four signs glowed the way old paint does when it has been kept under a lamp for years. Green, red, blue and orange hung in the air like the tail of a comet. The dancers did not scream. They stepped towards the doors that the wind, the coal, the tide and the wire had always been pushing them through, and every one of them found the right exit without a single lamp.

When the fuse was mended, Ada was alone with her broom. She unscrewed the blue sign, the one that had been wet so often, and pocketed it beside the tram ticket. The others stayed up on their hooks, and nobody has danced in that hall since without glancing at the doors.