Small grey praying hands tattoo on the back of a person's neck, drawn in a fine line style with light shading.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Praying hands on the back of the neck

Fine line · Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of two palms pressed together in prayer sits on the back of the neck, just below the hairline. The design is drawn with thin grey outlines and soft grey shading on the fingers and palms. The photograph is taken from behind, showing the neck, part of the hair and an ear, with a dark top in the lower frame.

Fine line Neck Praying hands Hand

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The temperature needle has been creeping towards red since Amargosa, and you have stopped pretending it will behave. Past the last sun-bleached sign for Death Valley Junction, the light drops behind the ridge and turns the road the colour of weak tea. That is when you see the woman at the verge, a canvas holdall at her feet and one hand raised, thumb out, the other pressed flat against her coat.

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She climbs in without asking where you are headed, which suits you, because you are not sure yourself. Her name is Ruth, she says, and she walks these roads on Tuesdays to sit with the women at the chapel in Shoshone. Then she falls quiet and folds her hands in her lap, palms together, fingers loose and pointing up, the way the old men held theirs in the hymnal pictures your mother kept. The engine ticks. Ruth murmurs something that sounds like a list of names, and you realise each one ends where the last one began.

The truck gives out a mile short of the next pump, with a sigh and a hiss of steam. You turn to ask her what to do, but the passenger seat is empty, the door shut, the holdall gone. Out on the verge, a pale shape stands in the grey light beside a leaning fence post, hands pressed together at her chest. When the tow truck crawls up the grade at midnight, the driver asks who had the sense to stop before the block seized. You tell him it was a woman named Ruth. He looks at the empty road and says there is nobody out there for fifty miles.