Close-up of a small red and blue fine line tattoo of a flying saucer with dotwork shading on the upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Red and blue flying saucer on upper arm

Fine line · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A flying saucer with a domed top, antenna and a small porthole-like emblem sits at the centre of the image. The outline is fine blue and red linework, with dotwork stippling on the underside and geometric triangle patterns across the upper band. The tattoo is set on pale skin against a blue sleeve, with the composition centred and tightly framed.

Fine line Dotwork Geometric Upper arm Flying saucer Spaceship Ufo Geometric pattern Dot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Ruth Okafor had worked nights on the fourth floor of St Alban's for nineteen years, and she knew the sound the windows made when the wind came off the reservoir. Tonight it was quiet. At twenty past three the agency nurse, Chloe, came hurrying down the corridor with her lanyard flapping, saying there was a light on the helipad that didn't move like a helicopter.

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They went to the end window with its wired glass. Above the car park lamps hung a saucer of a thing, domed on top, with a thin aerial at the crown and a row of stippled lights along its belly, like a pattern someone had stitched by hand. Ruth had seen the sky do odd things before, usually Mars or a weather balloon, but never anything that held still this long. Chloe said it was a drone. Ruth said drones did not have portholes.

In the sluice cupboard, behind the bedpans and a box of out-of-date dressings, was a drawer of promotional rubbish nobody had ever thrown out: a paper fan, a tin of barley sugars, and a pair of cardboard glasses with one red lens and one blue, left over from some cinema campaign in the fifties. Ruth put them on. Through them the saucer split in two, one red and one blue, drifting a fraction apart like a ghost of itself, and the small round emblem at its centre seemed to wink.

"Well," Chloe said, "it's looking at us." Ruth took the glasses off, folded them carefully, and left them on the windowsill for whoever came on at seven, because someone ought to be able to see what she had seen. When she looked back the lights had gone out, and the car park lamps were only lamps.