Colour tattoo on the top of a foot near the ankle, showing a pink five-petal flower with a yellow centre, black swirling linework and small yellow stars.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pink flower and swirls on a foot

Botanical · Ankle · Mixed · Photo

A pink five-petal flower with a yellow centre sits on the top of a foot, joined to black swirling linework that curls up towards the toes and down towards the ankle. Small yellow stars are placed beside the flower, and the pink petals have soft shading. The photograph is taken from an angle with the foot filling the frame, and the toenails are painted orange.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You are carrying a cutting of blossom up fourteen flights because the lift at Harrowgate House has been dead since March. The cutting is wrapped in a carrier bag, its five pink petals pressed flat against the plastic, and its yellow heart glows like a dropped coin. Your neighbour Mrs Adeyemi said the tree in Cutter's Park was cut down in February, and you said you would find another, and you have found one. Nobody else in the block would have bothered.

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On each landing the stairwell smells of bleach and somebody's onions. The walls are painted the colour of weak tea, and someone has scratched a spiral into the paint at knee height, a loop that curls out and back the way the wind does round the tower. You stop there to breathe. Above you the iron rail winds on up through the dark, and you think whoever designed this place wanted you to keep climbing.

On the twelfth floor the light from a window catches the stars someone has stuck along the sill, little yellow paper ones from a children's party, four of them still holding on. You tell yourself the flower will be happier up here than on the ground. You tell yourself a lot of things on the stairs.

At the top, the door to the roof is propped open with a brick. You kneel on the gravel, set the cutting in the tub of soil you carried up last week, and press it in with your thumbs. Below, the estate is a scatter of kitchen lights. The wind pulls at the bag and then lets it go, and you watch the petals lift and settle, lift and settle, as though the tower has decided, for once, to be kind.

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