Fine line black tattoos of a ringed planet, an alien head and a crescent moon with stars, one on each of three fingers on a hand resting on a dark leather seat.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Planet, alien and moon tattoos on three fingers

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A hand rests on a dark leather surface with three small tattoos, one on each of three fingers: a ringed planet, an alien head and a crescent moon with two small stars. The linework is thin and outlined, with no shading or fill. The ink is black and the nails are painted white, yellow and neon green, with a soft, slightly warm photo tone.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit close to the stove, Ruby, it's the only warm thing on this boat, and mind the mooring rope, it's older than your nan and twice as stubborn. Pass me that tin of tea. Right. The winter the Mary Lightfoot lay stuck at Braunston lock, with ice on the cut thick enough to walk on, a little grey fellow came picking his way over the frozen towpath in a coat too big for him. He had a ringed ball under one arm like a cabbage he'd been meaning to sell, and he asked me, very polite, whether the lock keeper had seen his moon.

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Well, the lock keeper hadn't, but I had. It was caught on the weir, a silver sliver no bigger than a fingernail, shining through the reeds where the water ran slow. The little fellow sat down on the gunwale and cried, quiet as a kettle thinking about boiling. So I took the pole, and he took the tiller, and between us we nudged the Lightfoot out onto black water with two stars winking over the lock gates like they were paying us to hurry.

We got the moon back in the morning, though I'll be honest, it took the three of us and a boathook. He thanked me by tapping his ringed ball against the hull, a clean little note, and then he was gone up the Oxford arm with the cabbage and the coat and a look on his face like a boy who's finally found his kite.

And if you go up that cut on a clear night, Ruby, you'll still see the moon lying in the reeds by the weir, only it isn't stuck anymore. It's waiting for the next person kind enough to lift it out.

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