Two small black fine line lightning bolt tattoos on the wrists of two hands clasped together.

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Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

Two hands are clasped together, each wrist showing a small lightning bolt outline in black ink. The linework is thin and even, with the bolts sitting alone against bare skin. The image is in soft, muted colour with a light grey knit sleeve at the bottom edge.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mae had the generator running again before the first queue for the Waltzer had finished grumbling. Dad's old diesel genny thudded behind the caravan, and the bulbs along the spinning ride flickered back to life one row at a time, the way they always did when she coaxed the fuel line with a spanner and a mouthful of swearing.

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Her brother Teddy watched from the step of the ticket booth, arms folded, pretending he had not been the one who knocked the lead loose. "Storm's coming," he said. "Can feel it in my teeth."

"Your teeth have never once been right about weather." She wiped her hands on her jeans and looked up at the sky over the big wheel, a bruised purple stacking up behind the chip shop. Then the first fork came down over the far field, white and thin as a crack in a plate, and the whole fair held its breath until the thunder arrived.

They counted the seconds together, the way they had at six, when their mum made them sit under the caravan table with the curtains shut. Nine seconds. Then the rain came sideways, the lights on the Waltzer died all at once, and a little girl started crying near the coconut shy.

Mae was already moving. She had the switch in her hand before she thought about it, and the genny came back with a cough and a cheer. Teddy held the torch steady while she worked the choke, and up on the wheel the gondolas lit one by one, swinging in the wet dark like a row of lanterns somebody had remembered to leave on.

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