Close view of a woman's upper arm with a small red rose and black linework tattoo, shown beside a black leather biker jacket and blue jeans.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Red rose tattoo on upper arm

Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

A woman in a black leather biker jacket, white top and light blue jeans sits on a motorcycle with her tattooed arm resting on her knee. The tattoo on the inner upper arm shows a red rose, with black linework and shading around the petals and stems. The soft, natural light and muted urban background keep the focus on the tattoo and the arm.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Tom, the rose came into flower on Tuesday, the same week the last stopping train through Carlisle Road was cancelled for good. You'll remember Dad planted it against the signal box wall the summer before he went, saying a box needs something soft to lean on. For eleven years it sulked. This year it put out one red bloom the size of a fist, and I have stood at the window every morning since, half expecting him to come up the platform steps with his flask.

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Yesterday a motorbike pulled into the goods yard, which is forbidden, and a woman got off and stood looking at the bush as though someone had described it to her. She didn't ask permission. She took a penknife from her pocket, cut a single stem below the bloom, and wrapped it in a page torn from an old timetable. I was going to shout, Tom, I truly was. Instead I asked where she was headed, and she said north, and that the road was longer than she'd been told.

Before she left she slid a folded card under the door of the box. It said, in pencil, 'For the man who kept the lamp lit. Tell him it bloomed.' I don't know how she knew about Dad. I suppose the bush told her, or the lamp did.

So I'm telling you, though you'll say I'm going soft. The rose is still there, one bud short now. Come up at Christmas and bring the good tea. We'll sit at the window and watch the 16:10 go through without stopping, which is what Dad always said it should do. Love, Margaret

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