Traditional tattoo of the Millennium Falcon in grey shading above a red flower and yellow-green leaves, on a forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Millennium Falcon and red flower on a forearm

Traditional · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A grey-shaded Millennium Falcon spaceship sits at the top of the design, with a red five-petalled flower and yellow-green leaves below it. Bold black outlines define the ship and foliage, and the ship's panels are rendered in greys with small red accents. The image is shown as a side-by-side pair of close crops, with the ship filling the upper half and the flower centred in the lower right.

Traditional Forearm Spaceship Flower Leaves

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lift has been broken since Tuesday, so you take the stairs with a shoebox under your arm, nine floors of concrete smelling of bleach and somebody's dinner. On the fourth landing the boy from flat 41 sits on the step with his knees up, scraping grey paint off a plastic hull with his thumbnail. The ship in his lap is the one you lost in the summer, the one with the cockpit door that never shut properly.

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Dev, he says, without looking up. Is it finished? You tell him the box has a cracked lid and a wing that snapped off, and that you've glued it back twice. He turns the ship over and holds up the underside, where someone has drawn a red flower in biro, petals like a child's sun. He says his nan did that on everything, the kettle, the fridge, the bins outside. You sit down beside him on the cold step and open the box anyway.

Inside are the things you've been saving for a year: a tin of yellow-green enamel, a fine brush gone stiff, and a letter from the council saying the soil on the roof garden has to go by the first of the month. The only thing still growing up there is a single red bloom in a cracked planter, with leaves nobody has watered since your mum moved out. You tell him that if he holds the ship steady, you will carry that planter down all nine floors yourself. He laughs as if you've said something very stupid.

Morning comes grey over the car park. You carry the planter down through the lobby with the boy in front, the ship tucked back in his hoodie. At the bus shelter you set the flower on the wall where the sun reaches it, petals open, and you stand there until the bus comes, and then you go back up for the rest of the soil.