Black and grey realism tattoo of a hooded grim reaper with glowing orange eyes, holding a scythe and wrapped in chains, on a lower leg.

Grim reaper with scythe and chains on a calf

Realism · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A hooded grim reaper stands in the centre, its face hidden in shadow except for two glowing orange eyes, and holds a large scythe whose blade curves across the upper part of the design. Heavy shading gives the robe folds, chains and blade a realistic, three-dimensional look against a soft, pale background. Apart from the small orange eyes, the piece is rendered entirely in black ink and greys.

Realism Other Grim reaper Scythe Chain Hood Robe Skull

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dearest Mab, the cider apples came down early this year, and Mr Pryce says it is because of the heat, though the heat has not reached the far orchard. I am writing from the kitchen table with the window open so the wasps can get out, and so I can hear the lane. You will think me foolish, but I want a record of what happened on the Tuesday, in case anyone asks me later.

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A man came up the lane with a scythe across his shoulder and a length of chain wound twice around his waist. He wore a grey hood pulled so low that I never saw his face, only two points of orange light deep in the shadow, like coals left in a grate. He asked for work cutting the grass between the rows, and Mr Pryce, who would hire the devil for a shilling, gave him the job and a loaf of bread. The chain rattled when he walked, and the robe swung heavy around his ankles, and the birds went quiet in the hedges when he passed.

He cut every row in three days. The grass lay down in long pale swathes, and the boys say it hissed as it fell. On the third evening, when the men were walking home, I saw him stop beneath the old Redstreak that Father planted the year we were born. He lifted the blade and then lowered it again, and he stood there a long while with his head bent toward the one apple still hanging on the highest bough.

He has not asked for his wages. This morning the bread was gone from the step and the scythe was leaning against the gate, cleaned and oiled. The orchard is empty of everything but that last red apple. I have decided to leave it where it is. Come home at Michaelmas and we will pick the rest together.

Your loving sister, Nell