Black and grey realism tattoo of a woman's face with eyes lowered, a bird and scattered petals above her hair, on the side of an upper arm.

Realism portrait of a woman with birds on an upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and grey realism portrait of a woman with her eyes lowered, wearing a dark top with a dotted lace-like neckline. A dark bird and scattered feather or petal shapes rise above her hair, and a partly visible banner with lettering sits at the upper right edge. The shading is soft and detailed across the face and neck, with stippled texture on the neckline, and the tattoo is photographed on smooth skin against a dark background.

Realism Upper arm Portrait Woman Bird Petal Banner Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lodger in room seven went out before breakfast with a paper bag of crusts and didn't come back for the rest of her things, so on the Tuesday you climbed the stairs with the spare key and a bucket, expecting damp and cold tea. What you found was a windowsill lined with feathers, each one pressed flat between pages torn from a seed catalogue.

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The starlings had been coming to the back wall since March, and she'd fed them from the sill with a teaspoon of oats every morning while the bay lay grey below. Mr Hebden from the chemist's said it was a nuisance and the gulls would take the roof off next. You said nothing, because it was the first thing in the house in years that had made the place feel as if it were waiting for someone.

Under the bed there was a biscuit tin. Inside were letters in a careful hand addressed to nobody, and a folded lace collar, the sort your mother used to crochet with tiny dots of cream thread along the edge. Every dot had been stitched by hand. The pattern ran most of the way round, and in the last inch someone had started a second row and stopped, the needle still threaded through the loop.

You sat on the bed a long while. Then you carried the tin down to the hall and set it on the table beside the umbrella stand. At dusk the first starlings came rattling over the roofs, and you opened the back door wide, went up and left the window open too, and let the feathers stay where they were.