Black and grey realistic tattoo of a rhinoceros head with detailed wrinkled skin and two horns, shown on a area of bare skin.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Realistic rhino head tattoo

Realism · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A large rhinoceros head fills the frame, shown in profile with its horns pointing towards the right. The linework is largely absent, with the form built from detailed shading that renders the deep folds, creases and textured skin. The image is entirely greyscale, with strong contrast between the darkest shadows and the lighter highlights on the horns and brow.

Realism Other Horn Animal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

At twenty to four the corridor lights on Ward Seven dropped to their night setting, and Ruth Okonedo pushed the linen trolley past the side room where Mr Haddon had been awake since midnight. When she put her head round the door with the torch, he asked her whether the rhino was still at the zoo in Calder Park. She said she didn't know. He said his father had taken him there in 1958, and that the animal had stood in a wallow with its head low, the horns like two spades somebody had sharpened for a job nobody wanted.

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He talked about the skin most of all. It looked, he said, like a good coat left out in the weather and folded over itself until nobody could tell which crease was the seam. The keeper had told them the beast was nearly blind and trusted sound more than sight, so the children were made to stand still and speak quietly. Mr Haddon said he had kept silent for sixty-odd years out of respect for that animal, and now he was too tired to remember what he had meant to say to anyone else.

Ruth made him tea in the cupboard kitchen, the bag going brown in the mug, and sat on the plastic chair while he drank it. She told him she'd read somewhere that rhinos could live for decades, and that a wallow was a kind of memory the mud held for them. He laughed, and the laugh turned into a cough, and she waited with her hand flat on the blanket until it passed.

By six the sky over the car park had gone the colour of wet slate. Ruth drew the blind, and the first grey light lay across his knuckles, creased and slow, folded over themselves the way the animal's hide had been folded in his story. He was asleep before she reached the door.