Traditional colour tattoo of a hooded grim reaper holding a scythe whose blade is a dripping pepperoni pizza slice, with bold black outlines.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Grim reaper with pizza slice scythe

Traditional · Other · Colour · Photo

A hooded grim reaper with a skull face and purple-lined black cloak holds a skeletal hand around a brown scythe handle. The scythe blade is a slice of pizza with cheese dripping over the edge and red pepperoni circles. Bold black outlines and solid fills in orange, red, purple and black sit on a curved composition that frames the skull.

Traditional Other Grim reaper Skull Scythe Pizza Pepperoni Skeleton hand Hood

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The Pettifer Travelling Circus had nine weeks of diesel left and a big top with more patches than canvas. Mr Oduya came back from Swindon on the Tuesday carrying a pizza box instead of the trapeze rigging he had promised, and he set it down in the sawdust like a man laying a wreath.

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"Somebody has to play Death for the Saturday matinée," Dolly said, lifting the lid and taking a slice. "The reaper costume's in the wardrobe trunk. The kiddies won't know the difference." So I pulled on the black hood that smelled of mothballs, and the skull mask she had painted over winter, its jaw wired on with picture hooks. Oduya fixed a slice of pizza to the end of a broom handle with gaffer tape and called it a scythe. It was the most dangerous thing in the tent, and it was not very dangerous at all.

Eleven children came to the matinée, along with a man and his dog. I stalked the ring with my slice held high, and the cheese, long gone cold, slid off in a stringy orange rope onto the sawdust. A boy in the front row laughed until he slid off his stool. Then he looked up at my mask and stopped. "Are you here for the tent?" he asked. "No," I said, and I rested the blade on his shoulder. "The tent's been dying for years. I'm only here for the crusts."

Afterwards we sat on the caravan steps and ate the last of it with our fingers while the lamps buzzed. The big top sagged over us in the dusk, one pole already leaning like a tired man against a wall. I folded the hood into my lap and chewed the crusts, which tasted of canvas and diesel and something that might have been the start of a plan.