Colour tattoo of a fiery phoenix with outstretched wings and talons, rising over dark rocks across the upper arm and shoulder.

Phoenix rising across an upper arm

Neo-trad · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A large phoenix with a fierce beaked head, flared wings and clawed feet rises through swirling flames and dark rock shapes. The linework is bold and the shading is smooth, with strong orange, yellow and red tones against deep brown and black. The design wraps around the shoulder and upper arm, with the bird filling most of the frame.

Neo-trad Upper arm Shoulder Phoenix Flame Bird Rock Talon Wing

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rain had been coming sideways off the river since six, and by eleven the tarpaulins over the stalls on Hallam Square hung like wet sheets. You were the one on the crate, because you were the only one who would climb up in those boots. Mrs Adeyemi's gas ring had gone out twice already under the paella pan, and when you bent to coax the blue flame back with your cupped hands, the whole rig lifted off its feet in a roar of orange.

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Nobody screamed. That surprised you afterwards. The rain stopped being rain for a second and turned to steam that boiled off the awnings, and out of the smoke came the smell of scorched rosemary and something older, like a struck match held to a chimney. You stumbled backwards into Kofi's fish crates. Above the stalls a shape unfolded from the ash, all wing-edges and a fierce gold beak, and it did not look at the crowd. It looked at the black wet brick of the arcade, where the ground had split open like a loaf.

It rose slowly, shedding sparks that hissed on the cobbles, and lowered its taloned feet onto the rubble of the old fruit warehouse as though testing whether the stone would hold. Mrs Adeyemi was already on her knees, gathering spilt rice into her apron and laughing and crying at once. You watched the bird, and it watched you, and for one moment the heat of it came through your coat like a hand on your shoulder.

Then it was gone, and the rain came back, cold and ordinary, ticking on the tarps. The ring sputtered in a puddle. The next Sunday you lifted the pole again, and when the flame caught, you kept your hands well away from it.