Back tattoo of a brown pile of faeces with faint wisps and small shapes above it, on a woman with her top pulled down, placed across the middle of the back.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pile of faeces tattoo on upper back

Back · Black and grey · Photo

A woman is photographed from behind with a black top pulled down to reveal her bare back. The tattoo shows a stacked brown pile of faeces with thin wisping lines and small leaf-like or insect-like shapes rising above it, drawn with soft outlines and muted shading. The tattoo is shown in brownish and grey tones against pale skin, with a tiled bathroom wall behind her.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Old Pim Halloway had kept the heap behind the vicarage for forty-one years, and he would tell anyone who stood still long enough that a good heap was the only honest thing in Sutton Ferrars. Everything went in: peelings, cut grass, the vicar's sermons when they ran long, and whatever the hens would not eat. What came out was black, sweet, and smelling of nothing much at all.

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The spring the wind came off the marsh and stayed a fortnight, the heap began to steam at dusk. Pim knelt beside it with his fork and saw threads of vapour lifting straight up, thin as cotton, with small pale things riding them, seed husks or moths, he could not say which. The children from the lane came to watch. Dilys Mere, who was nine and had opinions, said the heap was dreaming and wanted to be a hill.

Pim did not argue. He turned the pile every Thursday, and at the bottom of it, in the warm dark, he found a brass thimble, a letter addressed to a dead aunt, and a single bean that had sprouted a leaf the colour of stewed tea. He left the bean where it was. By midsummer the leaves had climbed the threads like ladders, and the whole heap had risen into something the parish council called a difficulty and the children called the hill.

In September the council sent a man with a clipboard. He stood at the edge of the heap, looked up at the crumbling mound with its green crown, and wrote one word. Pim never learned what it was. He kept turning the pile until his knees gave out, and the hill went on growing.