Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Green-skinned zombie portrait on a forearm
Realism · Forearm · Colour · Photo
A large portrait of a figure with green skin, wide staring eyes, dark tousled hair and a red jacket collar fills the forearm. The shading is smooth and detailed, with blue and dark tones in the eye sockets, cheeks and hair that give the face depth. Bold greens and reds dominate against the plain dark background, and the image is framed tightly on the arm.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Tuesday, the 14th. Mam says I must not write in this book after lamp-out, so I am writing it by the stove with my coat still on. Something came out of Harrow Wood tonight, past the stile where the lane gives up. I saw it from the bakehouse window. It was green, the colour of pond weed under ice, and it wore a red jacket with the collar turned up, as if it had been to a dance in town and never got over it.
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Father took the lantern and the scythe and I went after him, against orders. It did not run. It stood in the middle of the lane with beech leaves caught in its hair and stared at us with both eyes wide open, the way a hare stares when it has been caught in a snare and decided to be dignified about it. Father lifted the lantern. The thing looked at the lantern, then at him, then at me, and I swear its mouth moved as if it was counting us.
Mrs Pell from the forge says these things are only lost, that they come out of the wood looking for the faces they used to have. I asked it its name. It said nothing, only tipped its head, and then it started to hum, badly, a tune about rain on a tin roof. Father dropped the scythe. I had not known he could laugh like that.
We left it at the stile with a loaf and a candle. This morning the loaf was gone and the candle was still lit, and on the wet clay of the gatepost someone had pressed two round marks, very neat, looking straight back at the house. I have put the book under my pillow. I am not going to look at the window again tonight.
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