Pen drawing of a revolver with its barrel releasing swirling smoke that forms a shaded purple rose, sketched on cream paper.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Revolver firing a smoky rose design

Mixed · Flash

A black ink revolver is drawn in profile, with its barrel ending in a cloud of wispy, looping smoke that turns into a rose. The gun is outlined and filled with solid black, with fine white highlights on the cylinder and grip. The rose is rendered in purple pen with fine hatching and soft shading, and it sits on a plain cream background.

Revolver Gun Rose Smoke Flower

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The tin ducks at Ansty fete had lost to Eunice Harrow three summers running, and nobody in the marquee could say where she got the revolver. It was nickel gone grey at the edges, its cylinder full of fine white scratches, and she held it the way the vicar held his sermon notes: loosely, as if it might tell her off.

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The prize that year was not the marrow or the tin of boiled sweets. It was the dark purple rose pinned to the back board, grown from a cutting the vicar's brother had posted from Bristol, and Eunice had asked for it by name. She squeezed once. The shot cracked over the bunting, and smoke came out of the barrel in loops, thin and deliberate, the way a wire wanders when nobody is standing under it. The loops thickened and folded inward, and by the time they drifted over the tent pole they had become a rose, petal by petal, darkest at the heart.

Bert, who had kept the stall since the war, took off his cap. 'That's not allowed,' he said. Eunice only smiled and handed him the gun, warm and heavier than it looked. 'Go on, then. Take the flower down if you can.' He lifted it, sighted along the barrel at the bloom, and found that his finger would not close. The rose hung there, unhurried, while the brass band started up on the green and the wind began to pull at it from the west.

By the time the band reached the second hymn, it had drifted out past the church roof towards the sea, petals thinning to threads, and Bert was still holding the revolver, having forgotten to give Eunice back her prize.