Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Matching girl on a swing tattoos on wrists
Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
Two matching small tattoos sit on the inner wrists, each showing a girl with long hair seated on a swing with her legs hanging down. The linework is thin and outlined in black, with no shading or fill inside the figures. The tattoos are shown in black ink on pale skin against a plain background.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The fair had set up on the old cricket field at Saltdean on the Tuesday, and by Thursday Nell knew every sound it made. The generator thudded under the dodgems, the brass band on the carousel stopped and started again, and at the far end, past the candyfloss van, the row of wooden swings creaked on their iron frames. Ruth had found them first. She said the showman let you ride them for nothing if you asked nicely and didn't mind the rope burns, and Ruth never asked nicely, so they rode for free.
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They pumped their legs until the chains went slack and then tight again, each trying to be higher than the other. Ruth's hair streamed out behind her like a flag somebody had forgotten to take in. Nell kept her eyes on the sky over the big wheel and counted the swings, one, two, three, the way her gran counted stitches. At the top of every arc the whole field tilted and for a moment nothing held them, not the ropes, not the ground, not the people shouting about hooplas on the other side of the fence.
On Friday morning the lorries were already rumbling out past the church when Nell cycled up to the gate with a loaf of bread wrapped in greaseproof paper. Ruth was leaning on the wing of a flatbed with a biro, drawing on the back of her own hand. Two small girls, each sitting on a swing, their legs dangling down. "One for you," Ruth said, and held her wrist out. Nell drew hers on the same way, a little lopsided, on the pale soft skin inside her own wrist. "Ink's better," Ruth said. "When we're old enough, we'll go and get them done properly, and then we'll see who goes highest."
The lorry pulled away with its engine coughing. Nell stayed on her bike at the gate until the ropes of the empty swings stopped moving in the wind, and then a while longer, watching the spot where the road bent round the chapel and took everything with it.
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