Realistic green-toned tattoo of the Hulk tearing through skin on an upper arm, with clenched fists and a snarling face.

Hulk bursting through torn skin on upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

The tattoo shows the Hulk's snarling face and clenched green fists breaking through a torn opening in the skin, with pink-red edges around the tear. The rendering uses smooth blended shading and fine highlights on the knuckles, hair and teeth to give a strong three-dimensional effect. Green dominates the design, with dark shadows and touches of red in the surrounding skin, and the tattoo fills most of the upper arm against a blue tank top.

Realism Upper arm Fist Torn skin Face Superhero

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nobody on the fourteenth floor of Calder House had seen Mr Okafor lose his temper in eleven years, which is why the stairwell went silent the night the lift died for the third time and he came out onto the landing shouting at the ceiling. He had a tin of green emulsion in one hand and a roll of masking tape in the other, and the look of a man who had finally decided something.

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Mrs Doyle from twelve said he was having a breakdown. Her son reckoned it was the paint fumes. I said nothing, because I had seen the sketches he'd been doing all month on the back of the bin shed door: a giant tearing through a rip in the wallpaper, knuckles like cobbles, a grin that didn't belong to anybody on our estate.

He painted it that night on the lift doors, using the tape to make the edges jagged so the steel looked split open. By morning the council man had arrived with his clipboard, ready to be cross, and stopped dead in front of it. A torn seam ran down the grey metal, the lips curled outward, and a fist was shoving through, fingers hooked round the frame. Behind it, the face was halfway out and already snarling.

The council man photographed it, sighed, and rang someone who rang someone else. The lift was fixed by Friday. Mr Okafor never painted anything again, and nobody has asked him to cover it up. Some nights, waiting on fourteen with a bag of shopping cutting into my fingers, I swear the knuckles have moved an inch closer.