Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Green hummingbird on a forearm
Forearm · Colour · Photo
A small hummingbird in flight is tattooed on the forearm, with its wings spread and its long beak pointing towards the upper arm. The bird is rendered in greens and teal with soft gradients and blended shading, giving a painterly finish rather than hard outlines. The bird sits off-centre on the lower arm, with plain skin and a grey top filling the rest of the frame.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The bird came in through the sluice room window at ten past three, which is the hour when nothing good comes through anything on a ward. Sister Okafor said it was a moth. Then it hung in front of the drip stand, wings blurring, its long beak aimed at the ceiling tiles as if it were reading the fire notices. Its green was the green of bottle glass held up to a lamp, with teal where the light caught the underside.
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I tried a pillowcase first, which was stupid, because a hummingbird does not care about cotton. It went past my ear with a sound like someone flicking a wet thumb across a comb. Porter Dale, who has worked nights longer than the lifts have worked at all, leaned on his trolley and watched with the look he keeps for lost property. We lost four minutes. Somewhere down the corridor a call bell rang and nobody moved.
It was Mr Prentice in bed six who solved it. He had not said a word since Tuesday, and his voice came out like a hinge. "They can't go backwards for long," he said. "Open the window wider and let it choose." So I did, and the bird went round the room twice, touched the sill beside the water jug, and then it was gone into the car park dark, a single speck of green under the sodium lamps.
At handover I found one small feather stuck to the paint of the windowsill, bright as a sweet wrapper. I put it in my breast pocket and forgot it until the morning, when I found it still there, perfectly whole, and Mr Prentice had asked for a cup of tea with two sugars.
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