Fine line black ink tattoo of a girl in a long dress flying a kite, placed on the side of the ribs.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Girl flying a kite on the ribs

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A small line drawing shows a girl in a long dress standing on grass, her hair and dress blowing in the wind as she looks up at a diamond-shaped kite on a long string above her. The linework is thin and even, in solid black ink with no shading or colour. The tattoo sits on the side of the ribs with plenty of empty skin around it, and the composition is simple and airy.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mum had pulled onto the gravel shoulder of the Cirrus Road with the engine still ticking, and by the time I'd dragged Grandad's kite out of the boot, the sand was already sliding across the tarmac in long, low sheets. "Not here," she said through the window. "Not in this." I didn't answer. The wind had been at my back for forty miles, pushing the car like a hand between the shoulder blades, and it seemed a waste not to use it.

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Grandad taught me the kite when I was seven, on the sea wall at Whitby. His rule was simple: never hold the spool tight, never fight the pull, let the air do the lifting and keep your own feet on the ground. I stood on the verge in his old grey coat, the hem snapping round my shins, and fed out line until the red paper diamond lurched, caught, and climbed. The string hummed. Grass tufts bent flat in the ditch. Somewhere behind me a lorry honked twice and then, to my surprise, slowed to a crawl so the driver could lean out and watch.

It went higher than I'd ever flown anything, a speck against a sky the colour of weak tea. Mum got out of the car eventually, arms folded, and stood beside me without a word. When the spool was nearly empty she took the handle from my hands and wound a single turn around her wrist, the way Grandad used to, and we both stared up at the far-off diamond as though it had gone ahead to find us somewhere to stay.

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