Small black fine line heartbeat tattoo on the nape of a person's neck, with blonde hair in a messy bun.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Heartbeat line on the nape of the neck

Fine line · Neck · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph shows the back of a person's head, with blonde hair gathered into a loose bun and a rail of hanging clothes behind. A small black tattoo of a heartbeat trace sits on the nape of the neck, drawn as a single thin line with a few sharp peaks. The ink is dark and the tattoo sits near the centre of the frame, with the hair framing it.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Tuesday, late. The 22:14 to Carlisle came through with its lamps off again, and Mr Haddow swore at the signal box until the wires hummed. I have the strip of paper from the pen recorder on the bench beside me, still curled from the damp. Every time the line ran up or down, the needle scratched a peak onto it, so the whole night is written there in one thin black thread: the cold coming in under the platform roof, the kettle, the sudden drop when the points froze at a quarter past one.

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Mother always said a station is just a heart with timetables. I thought that was the sort of thing she said after her second sherry. But I pulled the chart flat under the lamp tonight and I could see it, the rhythm of the place, the long quiet stretches and then the spikes where something actually happened: a parcel train, a dog on the line, Dennis running up the steps with a telegram he didn't want to open.

I have decided to keep the strip. Mr Haddow says the company will want the recorder roll returned by Friday, so I will cut out this section with my good scissors and put it in the tin with the ticket stubs. Nobody will miss a few inches of ruled paper with a heartbeat on it.

Walking home across the footbridge at half past two, the frost came up off the rails in little shivering lines, and I thought I could see the same pattern in the ice on the handrail. I stopped and waited for the next goods train so I could feel the bridge lift under my boots. It came, the iron lifted, and I went on home counting.

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