Colour neo-traditional tattoo of three ravens wrapped around a central eyeball with yellow lightning bolts and stars, across the outer thigh.

Ravens, eye and lightning on a thigh

Neo-trad · Thigh · Colour · Photo

Three dark ravens with detailed feather texture and yellow claws circle a central blue eyeball surrounded by a magenta and teal spiral. Yellow and white lightning bolts and black and pink stars fill the gaps around the birds. Bold colour, soft shading and a wrap-around composition cover the whole thigh.

Neo-trad Thigh Raven Crow Eye Lightning Star Bird Claw Feather

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Now, you'll all remember Dessie Coyle, who kept the boiler at Calder Vale Grammar and never once in forty years let a child touch his tools. Half of you were scared of him and the other half were scared of the ravens that lived on his roof. Three of them, big as Labradors, black as the inside of a coal scuttle. Nobody fed them. They fed themselves off the dinner queue.

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The summer we were fifteen, the storm came in over the moor on the last Friday before the exams. I was in the sixth-form block with Alison Moorhouse, and we watched the sky split over the football pitch. Three forks came down, one after the other, and the flagpole glowed like a candle. Afterwards Dessie was out on the grass with a bucket, fishing something from the puddle beside the pavilion. It was a glass eye, blue as a gas flame, the size of a plum, with a black pupil that looked straight at you.

He never said where it came from. He kept it in his jacket pocket and told anyone who asked that the ravens had brought it down with the lightning, and that if you were rude to them they'd come back for the rest of you. Alison didn't believe him. I didn't either, until the last morning of term, when I went up to the boiler room for my bag and found the three of them perched on the window ledge, each one staring at the eye on the bench, not one of them blinking.

Dessie was gone by the September. Nobody knows where the eye went. But I'll tell you this, friends: every time it thunders over this car park, I look up, and there are three black birds on the lamp post, waiting for somebody to ask them the time.