Black silhouette tattoo on a person's upper back showing a flying boy, a fairy with a dotted trail, a girl in a flowing dress and a pirate ship with a rowboat below.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Peter Pan silhouette scene on upper back

Back · Black and grey · Photo

A black silhouette scene of a flying boy, a fairy with a dotted trail of fairy dust, a girl in a flowing dress and a pirate ship with sails and a rowboat holding a small figure. The shapes are solid black with no shading, and the design is arranged diagonally across the shoulder blade. Only the ink and skin tone are visible, with no colour.

Back Fairy Flying Silhouette Girl

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The boy came back to Carrick Quay the autumn the gulls went quiet, sitting on the mainmast of the Marigold Kite as if he had never been away. My father swore the wind bent around him. I was nine and believed every word, because nobody in our town had ever flown anything that was not canvas or lies.

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A little light went with him everywhere, spitting dust that hung in the air behind him like a dotted line drawn by a careless hand. It was the light that found me first, on the slipway with a bucket of crab lines, and it rang like a spoon against a glass and told me to hold still. I did not hold still. I asked if it would take me too, and it laughed so hard the dust came down on my boots like sugar.

My sister Nell was seventeen and had been waiting her whole life for someone to come up the harbour steps and ask her to dance. That night she packed her good blue dress into a carpet bag and climbed into our rowboat with the lantern. The boy hung over the water and called to her, and she laughed the way the tide laughs at a sandbar. I rowed them out myself because someone had to, and my oars slipped in my wet hands the whole way.

At the bay's mouth the black hull of a ship rose out of nothing, sails stacked like unlit paper, and a figure with a cutlass stood at the rail and watched us come. Nell stepped onto the ladder without looking back. The boy lifted her up into the rigging, and the light went with them, up past the crow's nest and into the sky. I rowed home alone. Every autumn since, I sit on the quay wall and count the gulls, waiting for one of them to come down with a thin silver trail behind it.