Colour tattoo of a grey mouse on a wild strawberry plant with red berries, white flowers and green leaves, placed on a person's upper back.

Mouse among wild strawberries on a back

Botanical · Back · Mixed · Photo

A grey mouse with a long tail sits on a sprig of wild strawberry, nibbling a ripe red berry. Surrounding it are green serrated leaves, white five-petalled flowers with yellow centres, and several red and unripe green strawberries. The mouse and leaves use soft shading and fine dark outlines, while the berries show bright red and pale tones, and the design is arranged in a loose, rounded cluster across the skin.

Botanical Neo-trad Back Mouse Strawberry Leaves Flower Berry Plant

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the step, that's the third one from the top, the rest went with the old oil store. Sit down, sit. The keeper's wife used to say a lighthouse is only as honest as the creature living under it, and on Scarrow Head that creature was a harvest mouse called Tilly Gorse, who had no business being there at all.

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She came up the cliff path the spring the boundary wall fell, a single wild strawberry seed tucked in her cheek like a sweet she meant to save. Nobody grew anything on that rock. She planted it in the lee of the lamp-house, where the salt couldn't reach, and sat with it through three winters, counting the beam as it swept over her every eleven seconds. By June the little plant had runners, and by July it had berries no bigger than a thumbnail, sour as a Monday and red as a ship's signal.

Then came the fog that August, the thick kind that drinks the sound out of a bell. The lamp failed at dusk, and the keeper, old Amos Penrose, was down with his chest, so there was only Edwin, aged nine, and a paraffin tin he could not lift. Tilly heard the fishing boats hooting out past the reef. She ran the gallery rail with her tail up and her heart going like a clock, carrying each ripe berry down to the glass one at a time, and set them along the sill beside the lantern, where the red caught what little light there was.

Edwin lit the wick by the glow of them, and the boats came in along that thin line of red. In the morning the fog lifted and the beam turned again, and there on the windowsill sat one last berry, still faintly warm, which nobody had the heart to eat.