Black ink dotwork drawing of a pizza slice with pepperoni and a single eye near its tip, shown as a tattoo design.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pizza slice with an eye

Dotwork · Black and grey · Flash

A triangular pizza slice is drawn with a single open eye near the top, surrounded by pepperoni discs and a crust along the base. The shading is built from dense stippled dots, with heavier clusters along the edges and around the pepperoni to give a rounded, textured look. The drawing is in black ink on a plain white background and is centred in the frame.

Dotwork Pizza Eye Pepperoni

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dougal had run the only oven on Scarrow for eleven years, and in all that time the slice of pizza pinned above the till had never once blinked. It was a sheet of cardboard from a crisps promotion, pepperoni discs drawn in biro, the crust gone brown at the edges. Tonight, when the ferry horn sounded across the bay and the last customer had gone, the eye in the middle of the cheese was open wider than he remembered.

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"Don't start," he told it, wiping flour off his wrists. The island had gone quiet the way it always did after the last crossing. He switched off the fryer, counted the takings, and found a single two-pound coin on the shelf beside the oregano jar, face up, as if someone had set it there to be looked at. Nobody had been in since half seven except Mrs Tulloch and her sheepdog, who had only wanted garlic bread and an argument.

The eye followed him to the back door. When he came back from the bins, the cardboard slice had slid crooked on its nail so its tip pointed at the window where the lighthouse swept. Through the glass he could see a rowing boat drifting in the shallows with nobody in it, its oars lashed together with what looked like string cheese. He thought of the order he had promised Ellen Moir for the morning, a large with extra pepperoni, and decided that whatever the eye wanted could wait for the tide.

He pulled the shutter down, locked it, and climbed the stairs above the shop. In the morning the cardboard was back on its nail, flat and innocent, and the coin was gone. All that remained was a faint ring of oil on the counter, shaped exactly like a slice, with one small mark in the middle that looked, if you squinted, like someone keeping an eye on the orders.