Fine line black and grey tattoo of a potted cactus inside a thin square frame on the outer thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Potted cactus in a frame on a thigh

Fine line · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows a small cactus with several arms growing from a rounded pot that sits on a horizontal ledge, enclosed by a thin black rectangular border. The linework is fine and even, with solid black shading under the pot and the cactus spines drawn as small dots. The photograph is black and white, taken at close range on the thigh, with the edge of a dark garment visible at the top of the frame.

Fine line Botanical Thigh Cactus Pot Frame

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The painting came into Pargeter's framing shop in a tea chest, wrapped in last week's Deeping Gazette, and Mr Pargeter unwrapped it on the bench with two fingers as though it might still be wet. It was a small oil of a cactus standing in a round clay pot on a ledge, with nothing behind it at all. "Who paints a plant against nothing?" he asked. "Someone who has run out of wall," I said. He didn't laugh. He hadn't laughed since Easter.

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Mrs Ada Lusk had brought it in herself. She had kept the cactus on her kitchen sill in Market Deeping for thirty-one years, and since her husband died she wanted the picture framed so it would stop looking like something you could knock over. I measured the moulding twice. Plain black ebony, a thin fillet, because the cactus did not need fancy. It had three arms, a stubborn look, and it had outlived the geranium beside it. Mr Pargeter let me cut the mitres myself, which he had never once allowed.

On the Saturday I took the finished frame out on the bus. Mrs Lusk had laid a folded cloth where the pot had stood, and the ring it left in the dust was the only clean thing on the sill. She said the cactus had never flowered in all those years and she had never minded. I said perhaps it had only been waiting for a proper frame. She looked at me the way Mr Pargeter looks at a joint that has come out true, and she put the kettle on without asking if I wanted tea.

Her note came the following Tuesday, written in pencil on the back of a seed packet and pushed through our letterbox: It has put out a fourth arm. Please don't tell the frame. I pinned it above the bench, where Mr Pargeter could see it when he sat down to his tea, and for the first time since Easter he read it twice and then laughed out loud.