Flash sheet of gold, silver and black metallic temporary tattoo designs, including crossed arrows, feathers, a hamsa hand, chevrons, aztec bands and the words love and wild heart.

Metallic temporary tattoo flash sheet

Geometric · Mixed · Flash

A sheet of metallic flash designs on a white background, including a hamsa hand with an eye motif, crossed arrows, feathers, a triangle, chevron bands, an infinity symbol with the word dream, and a row of aztec-style diamond bands. The line work is clean and outlined, filled in gold, silver or black foil. The designs are arranged in columns with the words love and wild heart and a product code, YS-04, in the lower right.

Geometric Arrow Feather Hamsa Triangle Chevron Infinity Dream Love Crossed arrows Diamond Moon Star

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The man from the Leicester train has been selling foil from a battered suitcase outside the Co-op since Tuesday, and by Thursday half of Haddon Cross has gold arrows glinting at its wrists. Your mother calls it nonsense. Your mother bought two sheets anyway, and so did the vicar's wife, who said she only wanted to see if it came off in the bath.

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He unrolls the sheet across the bonnet of his Morris, weighted at the corners with a tin of Brasso and a spanner. There is a hand with a dark eye in its palm, two crossed arrows, a gold feather, a silver one, and a black one that seems to drink the light off the others. 'Hamsa,' he says, tapping the hand with a nicotine-stained finger. 'Keeps off the looks that do you harm.' Beside it, in grey capitals that look as if they were set by hand, LOVE sits in its little box, and below, sideways, WILD HEART.

You pay a shilling you were saving for the Saturday pictures. He winks and tells you the foil lasts a week if you don't scrub it, which in Haddon Cross is a long time to keep a secret. Ruth Askew left on the same train line last spring with a suitcase just like his, and nobody has heard a word from her since.

That evening you sit at the kitchen table, lift the paper from its backing, and press the eye down onto the flyleaf of a library book you were never supposed to take home. You rub it with a thumbnail, count to thirty, and peel the film away. The eye stares up at the ceiling, gold and wide open, and for one whole week it is the only thing in town keeping watch over you.