Black and grey palm frond tattoo on the upper arm and a geometric forearm tattoo with a circular landscape motif, shown on a person with long dreadlocks.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Palm frond and geometric forearm tattoo

Botanical · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A person with long dreadlocks is photographed from behind, showing one bare arm in a white top. A large black palm frond sits on the upper arm, drawn with bold, clean linework and solid fills. Below it, on the forearm, a dense geometric pattern of triangles surrounds a circle containing a landscape scene, shaded in black and grey against a pale, softly lit background.

Botanical Geometric Upper arm Forearm Geometric pattern Triangle Circle Landscape Mountain

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nine minutes past three on Ward 7, and Oksana had been awake for nineteen hours, which was the kind of arithmetic she stopped doing around midnight. The corridor lights hummed at their low setting. Behind curtain four a monitor kept its own steady time, like a clock that nobody had wound.

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The new porter, Dev, had carried up a frond from the atrium plant after a cleaner snapped it off and nobody wanted to be the one to bin it. He wanted to know if it could sit in a jug by the nurses' station. "It's dying," she said. "Everything on this floor is dying slowly, that's the job." He filled the jug anyway and set the frond in it, its leaves spread like a hand that had decided to stop waving.

At four, the man in bed nine asked for the blind. Beyond the car park the ring road lamps threw orange across the wet tarmac, and past them lay a line of hills nobody could see in the dark but everybody knew were there, the way you know a drawing has a horizon. Oksana raised the blind. She told him about her grandmother's map of the island, folded in a biscuit tin, a circle of mountains drawn in pencil with a palm tree at the edge where the sea began.

By five the frond had lifted itself a little, green where it had been brown. Dev came back with two teas from the machine, and they stood in the corridor watching the fire door glass turn from black to the colour of slate. Neither of them mentioned the mountains. The handover sheet was due at seven, and the sun, which nobody on nights ever really expects, was already working its way up behind the hills.