Small fine line tattoo of a purple lavender sprig with green stem and leaves on a person's forearm.

Lavender sprig on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A single lavender sprig with two purple flower spikes rises from a thin green stem with two small side branches. The linework is delicate and even, and the purple flower heads are filled with soft shading. The tattoo sits centrally on a pale forearm against a blurred background of denim shorts and pavement.

Fine line Botanical Forearm Lavender Sprig Flower Stem Leaf Plant

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The cutting had survived three decades in the hydroponic drawer, which was more than Imelda could say for the nursery's last three managers. She held the glass tube up to the grow-light and counted the purple spikes again. Two. Still two, still stubborn, the green stem bent at the join where someone had once snapped it and it had grown back crooked.

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Outside the dome the wind carried grit off the Harrow Flats in long brown sheets. Nothing grew there now but scrub that rattled like paper. Her grandmother had talked about the old fields, how the air used to smell of something sweet and dusty after rain, how the bees came down in clouds to work the hedgerows. Imelda had never believed her. Bees were in the archive stills, flat and grey, nothing more.

The survey drone found the spot she had chosen, a shallow dip where a culvert once ran under the old road. She knelt with the trowel, loosened the clay, and set the sprig in with water from her own ration bottle, careful not to bruise the stem. The soil was grey and reluctant. She pressed it down with both palms and sat back on her heels, feeling foolish, feeling watched by nobody but the drone's blinking light.

Three weeks later she walked out alone before dawn and found a single bee on the dew-heavy plant, its legs furred with pollen, working the spikes as if it had been expecting them. She didn't move. She just watched it, the way you watch a letter come through a door you had stopped checking, and thought that the old stills had not lied after all.